While You Were Out
by Yay Ninja Bob
Summary: COMPLETE. SLASH. KyleStan. Kyle's POV. 'He did need the rest by the way he looked earlier, but I couldn’t contain myself. I didn’t know why, but I had this unsettling feeling like our time together was precious and all too short...' PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Good Morning and Happy Anniversary

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 1: Good Morning and Happy Anniversary

I could hear the steady beeping of some anonymous sound. _Beep… beep… beep…_ What was it? It sounded so familiar, almost as if I had lived with it for a long time. I lied there, with my eyes closed, listening to the sound of the beeping, not even realizing that I didn't know where I was. That I had been asleep for the longest time, so long that all of my body, except for my tuned ears, was still in a numb state of slumber.

When I finally discovered that I couldn't feel my arms, legs, hands, feet, or anything, I heard the beeping increase its tempo. _Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep…_ And then I at last realized what I was listening to… My monitored heart beat.

I strained to feel, but I could only see darkness and hear the sound of my heart monitor. Finally, I was able to pry my eyes open. The light was blinding and my vision was blurred for quite some time, but when everything came to focus, I found myself lying in a hospital bed. And the memory of what had happened visited my thoughts…

It was summer. School was finally out and that happy, joyful feeling of freedom touched every kid in South Park. No longer did we have to sit through another boring lecture, slave over some computer project, rack our brains trying to finish an in-class-essay before the bell rang, or stay up until two in the morning to finish that god awful math assignment. It was summer, and if you were a normal teenage boy, it was what you had prayed for all school year.

Not only was it summer, but it was my last _real _summer. My junior year of high school was finally completed and next year I was to be a senior. I had one more year of high school and then I was off to college. It was my last real summer as a kid. As a teenage boy, who did things because "he was only a kid" and was able to get away with shit because of it.

The first day of vacation was celebrated by sleeping in until three in the afternoon. My little party would've lasted longer and possibly all day if it wasn't for my kid brother, Ike. He needed a ride to his friend's house and my ma made me wake up and take him. I was slightly pissed off, but I obeyed. After all, as a jobless teen, my ma was my only source of money. And during the summer, being without money is sheer suicide.

After dropping my brother off, I decided to drop by Stan's house. It seemed to be that whenever I had no other plans, I found myself with Stan. And if I could somehow manage, and I frequently made certain that it was, Stan was apart of my plans anyway. I was in love with him. It was something I had lived with for several years, since about the sixth grade. I was hopelessly and utterly in love with Stan Marsh, and no one knew it but me. I had almost confessed my feelings to him on several occasions, but never succeeded. I was scared. I was scared that I would ruin our nearly perfect relationship. It was a perfect relationship, save the fact that I could never touch him in the ways I secretly and habitually fantasized about. No, Stan didn't need my touch. He had Wendy for that.

When I arrived at Stan's he looked as if he had just woken up himself. "Hey, what's up, Dude?" he yawned as he let me into his house.

"Nothing. Just wanted to stop by." The two of us walked down the hall and into Stan's bedroom. Stan threw himself on his unmade bed and I took a seat at his computer desk.

Stan yawned again, "Fuck, I'm so tired." I gave a short laugh at the fact that he was stating the obvious. He scratched at his jet black hair, looking about the messy room, "Dude, we should go to the community pool or something. It's fucking hot."

"When?" I asked.

Stan stretched out lazily on his bed, "I dunno. Tomorrow? Not today. I'm too tired." He sat up and looked more studiously around his room, "Shit, this place is a mess. My mom's gonna go nuts if she walks in."

"How do you let it get like this?" I inquired, spotting a dirty sock on the desk behind me and throwing it at him.

Stan caught the laundry, "We can't all be little mama's boys, Kyle." He flung the sock across the room, narrowly making it into a laundry basket in the corner. He stood up and began to collect candy and food wrappers, various articles of clothing, and soda can after soda can, attempting to tidy up the place.

I watched him with a smile. I watched him and wondered how much longer I would be able to do this. How much longer would I casually sit by and just be able to _watch_ him. He could be doing anything, so as long as I could see him, it was heaven. As I saw him dump some things in a small trash bin and he looked up and laughed at me, I felt like screaming, "I love you, Stan! I love your smile! I love your laugh!" but as always, I remained silent.

Tugging at his bed sheets, he began to make his bed, "Dude, you can turn on the TV or something."

I looked around the room, "Where's the remote?"

Stan smoothed out his sheets and then looked up, "…Good question."

I laughed, "I'd look, but I'm a little scared."

Stan grinned, "Dude, it's not that bad," he paused, "Look under that desk."

I got up and fell onto me knees, looking under the desk, "I see… old sneakers…"

Stan walked over and knelt beside me, "Hey! I've been looking for those!" he reached out and retrieved the pair of shoes, "And look!" laughing, he pulled his television remote out from one of the pairs of old vans. He tossed it to me.

I turned over the remote, "Yeah… you kinda need batteries for this to work."

Stan snatched the remote from my hands and threw it over my head, "Forget TV then. Let's play some video games."

"Sure," I replied, "but we're gonna need a television set for that, too."

"Crap!"

I started to laugh again.

"Dude, shut up and help me find some batteries!"

About an hour later, Kenny came over and joined us in our determination to uncover some batteries buried in Stan's room. About three hours later, we succeeded in finding two AA batteries which we salvaged from Stan's old CD player that he had lost over a year ago. Unfortunately, by that time, my ma had already called for me to go pick up my brother and I had to leave them.

"Dude, don't forget! We're all going swimming tomorrow!" Stan called out as I walked down the driveway to my car.

"I know!" I answered, climbing into my car. Waving goodbye to Stan and Kenny, I pulled out of the driveway and began to head over to pick up Ike. It was around seven in the evening, and it was a little dark, but not enough to cause me to focus heavily on the road. I almost wished I had, because I would soon regret it.

I was trying to change the radio station when I heard loud honking. I looked up and saw two headlights coming towards me. I screamed and frantically turned the steering wheel, but not in enough time. The car scratched against the passenger side of my car, hurling me into on coming traffic. I heard more honking, and then screeching. I witnessed two more headlights coming towards my stopped car. The last thing I remembered was closing my eyes tightly and wondering how much it was going to hurt.

Now I was in the hospital and I couldn't feel anything. I started to cry, thinking that I was crippled for life. I couldn't feel _anything_. I lied there, trying my best to look down at my own body, to see if it was even intact. I couldn't even lift my head. I tried to send messages to my fingers and my toes, to do something, but I remained numb. It wasn't long before my eyes were flooded with tears, and being unable to wipe them away, I simply closed my eyes. I felt like I was going to eventually drown in my own tears, but then there was a slight tingling coming from my finger tips. I did my best to blink the tears away from my eyes, and I indeed saw that I had succeeded in wiggling my fingers. I started to laugh, for pure happiness and joy that I was not crippled after all.

Soon I was able to flex my wrists, lift my hands, then arms, and eventually sit up in bed. As I sat in bed trying to coax my legs to move, a nurse casually walked in, unaware of my state.

"Excuse me," I said after watching her for several minutes, writing stuff down on a clipboard.

She jumped when she heard my voice and then quickly ran out of the room without any word to me, or explanation, or what seemed most appropriate, an apology for completely ignoring me.

She returned with a doctor who turned to her and said, "Call his parents." She nodded and left the room. "How are you feeling, Kyle?" he spoke to me as if I were retarded.

"I… I can't feel my legs," I only just noticed that my voice was very weak and dry. Another nurse came in with a tray of assorted vegetables, crackers, water, and juice. I wasn't hungry, but I was thirsty and I quickly grabbed the water bottle and strained to open it, but I found myself too weak.

The doctor took the bottle and opened it for me, "Just your legs then? How about your head? Do you have a headache?"

"No. I feel… tired."

He nodded, "And?"

"And…" I paused as I felt a gentle ripple run through my legs. I was starting to feel them again, "I… feel… confused."

He nodded, "You were in a car accident."

"I know that," I fought to try to lift my right leg. As my knee bent slowly, the doctor pushed it back down.

"Don't strain yourself," he said.

"What happened?" I asked. "I mean… after the crash…have I been unconscious for a while or what?"

The doctor seemed hesitant, "Kyle, you've been unconscious for quite some time," he paused, "For one year to be exact."

I stared at him, "A year?"

"Exactly one year."

I didn't know how to respond. How does one respond to the news that one has been completely oblivious to everything around them for a total of 365 days? It was surreal. I was in complete shock for several minutes and the doctor could tell, for he was dead silent.

"Am… am I okay?" I finally said, "Can I walk? Do you have a mirror? Is there some horrible scar across my face or on any part of my body? How long until I can leave the hospital?"

The doctor smiled at me, "Nurse!" he called out, "Kyle," he said looking at me again, "You appear to be fine. You have three noticeable scars from surgery, but none on your face. One is on your back and two on the thigh of your left leg. And by the looks of things," he said gently tapping my foot, "I don't think you'll have any trouble walking and you could be out of here as soon as tomorrow morning."

The first nurse came into the room, "Yes, doctor?"

"Did you contact the boy's parents?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get Kyle here a mirror," he turned to me, "Anything else?"

"Can you call someone else for me?" I asked.

"Sure," the nurse smiled, "Who?"

"Stanley Marsh. I have his number if you need it."

The nurse came over to me with a pen and paper and I wrote down Stan's number, "I'll call him right now," she said leaving.

"Stanley Marsh? Is he a friend of yours?" the doctor smiled.

"Stan's my… yeah… friend."

I quietly ate the food and drinks given to me, while watching the doctor scribble illegible things on a clip board. The nurse came back in with a mirror and I discovered that I looked the same. My hair was a little more muddled and long, but other than that, I couldn't see anything else different. My parents and my brother came some ten minutes later. They looked the same, except Ike did seem to be a little taller.

They asked me how I was feeling, how long I had been awake, and apologized over and over again for what had happened, like it was really their fault. I felt weird sitting and listening to my ma crying about how she visited me while I was in a coma… it was just… weird.

My doctor pulled my parents aside to talk to them. At that moment the nurse came in with some kid.

I didn't even recognize him at first. His hair was messier and longer than mine. I could hardly see his face. He was pale. He wore baggy, dirty clothes that didn't even match. But it was him. It was Stan.

I stared at him and he stared at me. I could only partially see his left blue eye through his thick, black bangs. And that one eye didn't twinkle that crystal blue color I remembered; it was almost a gray color now. Everything about him seemed to have a vacant gray appearance to it. I also noticed that he had a scar on his left cheek, that could have stretched all the way across his face, only his hair prevented me from knowing if that were the case. He looked nervous and fearful of everything around him. He couldn't even really look at me for a long time without shifting his view from me, to the floor, to the ceiling, to his feet, and back. He slowly approached my bed. I expected him to erupt with laughter, joking and talking about everything I had missed out on, but he was silent as he stared at me.

His stare… it was strange. I almost felt that Stan wasn't even there, at least not mentally. He just stared at me, not revealing any type of emotion or sympathy. His stare… it was frightening.

What the hell happened to him while I was out?


	2. Raven Haired Stranger

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 2: Raven Haired Stranger

My parents and my brother left Stan and I alone to "catch up." For a long time we just stared at each other. I was still trying to figure out what was with his appearance, without having to ask him.

He finally cleared his throat and spoke, "…How are you feeling?" His voice was quiet and practically inaudible.

"Fine," I answered. He gave me a shy, weak smile. "Stan," I began, "How are _you _doing?"

He gave a short laugh, as if my question wasn't really a question, "I'm fine too." It was an obvious lie. He kept his eyes on the floor, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to another, "I… I visited you…"

"You did?"

"…Yeah." He cleared his throat again, "I… I tried to come as much as I could… but I… I had trouble coming for the last few months…" he looked up at me, "Not as if I didn't care!" he added quickly, "I was just… busy."

"Oh," I said simply. What was he busy with? I waited for him to explain furthermore, but he was quiet again. I reached for another water bottle on my food tray. I strained to twist the cap open, but I was once again unsuccessful, "Can you help me with this?" I asked Stan.

Stan cautiously came to my bedside. He took his hands from his jean pockets, and with his right hand, he took the bottle from me. I saw that his nails were worn down, as if he had chewed them to that point, or had done a lot of scratching. On closer inspection as he twisted the cap open, I noticed small traces of dry blood on his fingertips.

Stan handed the bottle to me, "Thanks," I said. We were both silent for several minutes as I quietly drank my water. "So," I began again, "How's Kenny doing?"

Stan looked up from his feet at me with wide eyes. He quickly shook the shocked expression from his face, "Uh… Kenny's… Kenny's… dead."

It was my turn to wear a look of surprise, "Dead? How? When?"

Stan stared at me for a long time. I was beginning to think that he wouldn't give me an answer, but he cleared his throat again, "He… he died about two months ago…" He stared down at the floor and his bangs now covered all of his face, "They… they don't know how exactly… he… disappeared…"

"Disappeared?" I repeated.

Stan looked up and nodded. I could see that his eyes were a little filled with tears, "Disappeared," he said again.

"Then… then how do they know that he's dead?" Kenny couldn't be dead. It was a joke.

Stan stared at me, "Well…" he stopped. "They… they found his body."

"Oh my god…" He was dead?

"He was… beaten… to death."

"Oh my god…" Stan was serious. Kenny died. I started to think that this was why Stan was so downcast. Kenny died… his best friend was in a coma… shit, I would've lost it too.

But there was something else. There was something Stan wasn't telling me. I could just sense it. And this news of Kenny's death didn't explain that scar or his fingernails and the blood… What was with the blood?

"Stan," I began, "Are you… are you sure you're okay?"

Stan stared at me with his mouth opened slightly. I could tell he wanted to tell me something. I could tell that he was afraid to tell me whatever it was he was trying to say. I would of given anything just to be able to leap out of that bed and just hold him. Hold him and tell him that everything was fine. He could trust me. I was there. I loved him and I always would.

"Kyle…" he took a step towards me, "Kyle…"

"What, Stan?" I inched closer to him.

"Kyle…" he stared at me, his blue gray eye was drowned with tears. Something terrible happened to him while I was out. I could see it in his face. It seemed to express a painful memory that he was trying to share with me, "Kyle…" his gaze drifted above my head and settled on the clock above my bed, "I… I have to go." And without looking at me, he ran out of the room.

"Stan!" I called after him. I flung off my covers and jumped out of bed, but I took one step and fell weakly to the floor, "Stan! Come back!"

I lied on my belly on the floor for a long time, staring at the door that Stan ran out of. I looked up at the clock. It was a little after eleven in the morning. Where could he possibly have to be at this time? It was summer. Kids didn't have plans during the summer.

I tried to pull myself up from the floor, but I couldn't. When the doctor and my family returned, they were shocked to find me on the floor. My dad quickly rushed and helped me to my feet and onto the bed again.

"Kyle, you shouldn't try to walk now. You need rest and such before you can have all of your strength back," the doctor said. He gave me a kind smile, "But don't worry. You'll be fine."

I wasn't worried about myself. I was worried about Stan. I was angry that I couldn't chase after him. I was angry that I had to do something stupid like crash my car, causing myself to go into a coma. If I had never been unconscious I would know what was wrong with Stan-- No. I could have prevented what ever caused him to be this way. I was _extremely _angry that amidst all these emotions, the doctor ordered for me to go to sleep.

"But I don't want to!" I argued, "I've been asleep for a whole year! Why the hell would I need sleep?"

The doctor chuckled and his laugh angered me even more, "Do you want to leave the hospital as soon as possible?"

"Well I--" I relaxed a little, "…Yeah…"

"Then you need rest."

My mom leaned over and planted a kiss on my forehead, "Pleasant dreams, sweetie."

My dad gave me a pat on the head, "We'll be here when you wake up."

My brother waved at me, "Bye, Kyle!"

And they all left.

I lied in bed unable to sleep. The nurse came in some time later, with a needle. "What's that?" I asked.

She smiled at me, "Just a little help for you." She came over to my bed.

"That's okay!" I replied quickly, "I don't need that!"

She took my right arm and I looked away. I felt a small prick, "Ow."

"All done."

I stared down at my arm and rubbed the spot, "I didn't need that. I was about to fall asleep anyway," I lied.

I rested my head against my pillow and I closed my eyes. I felt extremely drowsy and I fell asleep.

* * *

I was lying in bed. I was asleep with my eyes closed, but I could see Stan sitting at my bedside. He looked the way he looked when I last saw him before the crash. He looked sad and his cheeks were stained with tears. 

Was I dreaming? This was a dream. Stan was gazing at me, "Kyle, can you hear me?" he sniffed. I tried to answer yes, but I couldn't. I was asleep. He smiled, "I came as soon as I heard…" he looked down at his hands, which he wrung nervously, "I hope you wake up soon. We were supposed to go swimming today, remember?" he laughed a nervous chuckle, "The doctor doubts that you'll wake up in time for that."

Stan got up from his chair and kneeled down at my bedside. He took my hand, "Kyle?" he squeezed my hand, "Wake up soon, okay?" He stared deeply at me and then broke down crying. He buried his face in my right arm and cried, "Oh, Jesus… please wake up, Kyle… Kyle, please wake up…"

* * *

"Kyle?" 

I opened my eyes and saw my parents standing over me. "How'd you sleep?" my mom asked.

I sat up in bed, "…Okay." I looked about the room, expecting to see Stan. He wasn't there. It was a dream. "What time is it?"

"Four o'clock," my dad answered.

The doctor came in, "Sleep well, Kyle?" he asked casually.

I nodded.

"Good," he came over to me, "Hungry?"

"Not really…" I said, "Do I even have a choice?"

The doctor laughed and I could tell that I was going to have to eat whether I liked it or not. Sure enough, the nurse came in with a tray of food. It looked like some sort of stew, some peas, carrots, corn, and a tall glass of orange juice and a bottle of water. I took the water bottle and was finally able to open it.

"Ah, do you see what a little rest does?" the doctor said.

I was about ready to slap him.

After my meal, the doctor agreed that it was time for me to try to walk again. But when I stood up, I buckled under my own weight, and was ordered back into bed.

"Can't I just go home in a wheel chair?" I asked, "I can rest at home."

"No, no. We want to keep an eye on you for a while," the doctor replied.

I frowned and stared down at my legs, as if I could intimidate them to grow stronger. I couldn't stand just lying there. I had to see Stan. He needed me.

"You're making tremendous progress," the doctor said, "After another nap or two, you'll be on your feet again."

My parents and I talked for a long time. Actually, my mom did most of the talking. I didn't hear ninety percent of the conversation, because I was too focused on Stan.

Finally my parents had to leave to pick up Ike from a baseball game. As they left, a nurse came in with some things. I saw my clothes, cell phone, and a pack of chewing gum, "These are things that you came in with after the accident," she said handing me the bundle. She left the room and I stared down at my belongings.

I could see small spots of my blood on my clothes, that were probably forever stained on there. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Stan's number.

_Ring… Ring… Ring…_ Why wasn't he answering?

"Hello?" Stan finally answered. He spoke loudly and I could hear a lot of commotion in the background.

"Stan?"

"Yeah, whose this?"

"Kyle."

"Who?"

"Kyle."

"Who?"

"_Kyle_."

"…Oh," there was a long pause, "What do you want?"

"Stan, where are you?"

"What?"

"_Where are you?_"

"…Oh," another pause, "Uh… Wendy's."

"What's going on over there?"

"What? Uh… hold on." I could hear Stan arguing with someone, "Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

He laughed a little, "I got to go."

"What? Stan what's--" I heard rustling.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" I asked back.

"Whose this?"

"Whose _this_?"

"Wendy."

"Oh. Hi."

"Hi. Whose this?"

"It's Kyle."

"Kyle!" she laughed, "You should come over!"

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I can't walk."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"You sure?"

She giggled, "I'm sure."

"Wendy put Stan back on the phone."

"He can't talk. He's busy."

"Doing what?"

"He's--" there was more rustling.

"Kyle?" Stan said on the other line.

"Stan? What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing… What do you want?"

"Stan, what are you doing? What's all that noise?"

"Noise? Uh… just some people…"

"Are you at a party?"

"…Kind of…"

"Kind of?"

"What?"

"Is that why you rushed out of here? To get to a party in time?"

"Rushed out of where?"

"Here!"

"Where?"

"The hospital."

"You're in the hospital?" he paused, "Oh… right. Uh, I got to go Kyle."

"Stan!"

He hung up on me.


	3. He Said No

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 3: He Said No

I went home the next day. I felt so drained, but despite my tired feeling I made it a priority to visit Stan. What the hell was with him yesterday? I was half worried and half angered about his behavior. Why the hell did he run out like that in such a panicked way? And he was laughing when I called him… he didn't seem too cheerful when he saw me earlier…

When I arrived at Stan's, I was knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell for quite some time. When he at last answered the door, he only opened it enough so that he could peek his head outside, "Hi…" he said quietly.

"Stan, where were you last night?" I demanded right away.

He stared at me and blinked a few times, "What?"

"Last night. When I called you?"

"I…" Stan looked confused, "I… don't remember you calling…"

"You--" I stopped, "Can I come in?"

"Why?"

"Because we need to talk."

Stan slowly opened the door and let me in. We went to his room. It was a disaster. The only visible furniture was his bed, which was still covered with clothes. He sat on his bed and I sat next to him, unable to find another seat.

"Stan, what happened?"

"…What do you mean?"

"I mean this," I gestured at his dirty room, "_This_!" I took his hands and waved his dirty, bloody, worn down fingernails at him, "And _that_!" I barely touched his scar and he flinched backwards as if I had punched him in the face.

He pushed my hand away and covered his scar, "I fell…"

"What?"

"I fell off my bike…"

"Bull shit," I shook my head. Why was he trying to fool me? "_Stan_," I pleaded, "Please tell me."

"I…can't."

So he _was_ hiding something from me. "Why?"

Stan shook his head, his mouth was opened, and I could tell that he was searching for the right words. "I…" a tear escaped his eye, "I… I can't get you involved with this…" he scooted closer to me and I moved closer to him as well. "Kyle, please just… leave."

"Stan what're you--"

"Please!" Stan screamed so loud, it sent a chill down my spine and all my hairs stood up. I started to cry a little as well. "Kyle," he said trying to sound more kind, "Look at me… Fuck… I don't know how I-- I just-- I… You have to understand that I don't want this!" he leaned close to me.

"Stan…"

"I won't be the one to fuck up your life!" he shouted, "Go home, Kyle!" he stood up from the bed, "Don't come back! _Leave!_" When he shouted "leave" his voice cracked. He didn't really want me to leave, it was obvious. He was clenching his fists and he wore an desperate look. Another tear fell, "**_Leave!_**"

I stood up, "Stan, I can't just leave. Please, Stan," I begged, "tell me. I'll help with whatever--"

Stan shook his head, "No!" he went in back of me and grabbed my shoulders, starting to shove me out of his room. I fought back by trying to lean all my weight on him, making it more difficult for him to push me. "Kyle! _Kyle_, god dammit! Leave! _Forget about me!_"

"_I can't dammit!_" I whirled around and faced him. Our faces were just inches away from one another and Stan still held me by the shoulders. I couldn't help but blush a little. "Stan, even if you force me out of here today, I'll be back tomorrow! Probably sooner! I can't just _leave _you!"

"_Why?_" he yelled, moving his face even closer, "Why can't you just _go_? Don't you get that--"

"_I love you, Stan!_" I threw my hands over my mouth as soon as the words came out.

His eyes were big. Stan slowly released me from his grip, he turned and faced away from me. I wondered what was he thinking… Why the fuck did I have to go and say that? _Why?_ I just made the situation we were in a whole lot worse.

A few minutes later, he turned and faced me again, "What?" he asked as if he didn't know what the word "love" meant.

I gulped, "I… I'm in love with you, Stan…" I closed my eyes and waited. What was I waiting for? Death? That's what it felt like…

"Kyle…" he began softly and I opened my eyes and held my breath. The way he said my name was so… romantic. Stan came closer, "Go home."

My heart sank, "Stan, I--"

"**_Go home!_**" he yelled, causing me to jump a little and my heart to break at the same time.

We heard the doorbell ring. Stan brushed past me, and I followed him to the door. Stan opened the door and revealed Wendy. Of all people, _she _had to be on the other side of that door.

"Go home," Stan muttered so only I could hear, "Hey!" he said smiling at Wendy and letting her inside.

"Kyle!" she exclaimed when she spotted me, "Are you gonna come over tonight? We're playing Button Button, 'cause last night we kinda used--"

"He's not coming," Stan quickly interrupted.

"What's Button Button?" I asked.

"Nothing," Stan said.

"Why can't you come, Kyle?" she asked smiling at me.

"He has plans," Stan answered for me. He gave me a look and I could tell that he was pleading for me to play along with him.

"Yeah…" I said slowly, "I got uh… some physical therapy session thing…"

"Yeah," Stan nodded.

"Physical therapy?" Wendy repeated, "Oh!" she laughed, "You've been in a coma, right?"

"Right…" I said raising an eyebrow at her dumb behavior. "Uh, Stan has to come too."

"He does?"

"I do?"

"Yeah. The doctor asked for his help and he agreed to do it," I looked to Stan.

"Right," Stan said. He turned to Wendy, "I'm gonna have to sit tonight out, Babe." Stan looked at me, "So I'll be at the hospital with Kyle from… seven?"

"Yeah."

"To… late?"

"Yeah, late," I nodded. "So… see you at seven. Right, Stan?"

"Right."

I left him. I didn't want to. Was he really going to come over at seven? Why would he? I just confessed my love to him and he didn't seem too thrilled. I waited for him by the door all evening. 7:00... 7:01... 7:02... By 7:15, I went up to my room to get my cell to call him. When I opened the door, I saw him sitting on my bed, in the dark.

He sat in the middle of the bed, with his legs pulled up close to his chest. His arms grasped his legs in a desperate-like fashion. He peeked his face just above his knees, his stare fixed on me. He looked anxious to do something, and I hoped and prayed that it was a confession of love-- like the one I gave him earlier, only more romantic.

But he just sat there, staring at me. Staring. It seemed to be his new hobby.

"I came in through your window," he explained.

"Who are you hiding from, Stan?" I asked closing the door behind me.

"No one."

"Bull shit."

Stan climbed off my bed and approached me, "I've been thinking…"

"About what?"

He shrugged, "A lot of things… But not all of it matters. What _does _matter is that you leave me alone, Kyle."

"Stan I--"

"No." The way he said it… it was serious and harsh. Stan wanted me to know that he wasn't fucking around. "Please. If I try to explain what exactly is happening or what happened, you'll just want to _help._ You can't help, Kyle. I tried to help Wendy and… it'll just happen to you, too."

"Stan, what do you expect from me? Do you honestly think I'll just walk away?" I came towards him, "Stan, I--"

Stan came close. He looked me deep in the eye. "Kyle, what do _you_ want? You wanna be the hero? You wanna _save_ me? You wanna be my fucking knight in shining armor?" He spoke so sarcastically, it was cruel, "What do you want, huh?"

I didn't know how to respond. But when our eyes were locked, I could remember the dream I had. "Did you cry?"

"What?"

"When I got in the accident…"

"Yeah… I cried."

"Why?"

"_Why?_"

"Why?" I repeated, "Was it because you cared about me?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Do you still care about me?"

"Of course. That's why I'm--"

"Do you love me?"

Stan stared for a while. His expression remained firm and he didn't blink once, or even flinch, "No."

There was a piercing feeling in my heart. Why did I let myself believe that he might of said _yes_? I felt horrible. I could feel tears coming on and I quickly turned away, trying to hide my emotion.

"Kyle," I felt his hand on my shoulder, "I can't love you."

I went and sat on my bed and buried my face in my hands, trying to collect myself. I was so fucking pitiful. I was in love with him. How the fuck did that happen in the first place? I was in love with him and I could help it. Nothing could fight this feeling. He didn't love me back. I wish I had never asked. Ignorance truly is bliss.

So he said he didn't love me, or rather that he _couldn't_ love me. What did he mean by that? Most likely that I was a guy, he was a guy, and that that wasn't right. But even if he couldn't love me, I loved him. I loved him and I was determined to find out what the fuck happened while I was unconscious in a hospital bed.

"Why can't you just _tell _me what's going on?" I looked up and discovered him sitting next to me, also covering his face, "Stan, I _will _find out."

Stan sighed, "Kyle--"

"I'll go to Wendy," I said and Stan quickly looked up. "She's already almost revealed everything twice. She'll tell me what's--"

"No!" Stan shouted, "Please…"

"I'll do it," I said strongly. Stan just stared. "You can start out by explaining yesterday." I tried to show that I was serious; I crossed my arms and stared at him.

He turned away from me and took a deep breath. It was a few minutes before he started talking, in the most hushed manner I had ever heard from him. "I… I don't remember much… I normally forget everything when I-- Kyle… now don't freak out. It's really not that bad…"

"What?"

"It's usually just fun…"

"What?"

"It's pretty safe most of the time…"

"What?"

"There are good times and bad times, but mostly good…"

"What?"

"I'm not addicted or anything, but I… I just… like it."

"Like _what_?"

"LSD."

"You've been tripping on acid while I was in a coma?"

Stan nodded, "It's not like it's a bad thing."

"Not bad? Stan look at yourself!"

"I know! Jesus, I know! But it wasn't the acid that did this! It was--" he stopped. "It's just… sometimes… sometimes there are bad trips and… one time… I started it 'cause I was just… I dunno… I've been thinking about quitting ever since I… But I can't stop! Wendy… she'll…"

"She'll what, Stan?"

A frightened look swept Stan's face, "She'll…" he took a deep breath. For a long time he wore a spacey look on his face and I could tell he was recalling something from his memory. I wanted to just hold him, but I knew that I couldn't. "Kenny…"

"Kenny?"

Stan slowly nodded, "He tried to stop and--" he shook his head furiously, "That's why I can't get you involved, Kyle!"

"She _killed _Kenny?"

"No… she… she made _me _do it…" He was quiet. I was quiet. I wasn't expecting a confession like that. I was in sheer shock. "I… I didn't know what I was doing. She traced my drink with some LSD… too much so that I completely lost it… She gave me a bat and told me to swing and… I did… I kept swinging and I… I _killed _him."

We were both silent for a long time. "Stan," I was finally able to find my voice again, "We're going to that party."


	4. Just Relax

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 4: Just Relax

"We can't go!" Stan shouted.

"Why?" I questioned.

"_Why?_" Stan repeated, "Well, first off, if Wendy finds out I was lying to her, she'd get _pissed off_ and you do not want that! Secondly! Secondly, you can't go! Or else… you can't go, Dude!"

"Stan, calm down--"

"You can't do anything to them, Kyle! They're--" He paused, "Can we… can we just talk about it some more?"

I hesitated for a while. Stan wore a pleading look on his face. "Okay. Fine." He sighed with relief. "But we're still going later tonight!"

Stan stared at me for a while. He frowned and looked down at his feet, "….okay…." He stood up from the bed and reached into his front, right pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. It was already opened and half eaten. He broke off a piece and popped it in his mouth, "Here," he said with his mouth full, offering me some. I broke off a small piece and placed it in my mouth.

As I chewed on the chocolate, he plopped down on the floor, by the foot of my bed. He leaned against my bed and closed his eyes. He looked as if he were waiting for something. I climbed of the bed and joined him on the floor, "How long?" I asked him.

"What?"

"How long have you been doing acid?"

"I dunno," he said plainly, his eyes still closed.

"Well… how long was it after my accident?"

"Dunno… maybe two…three months…"

"What's it feel like?"

"When you're tripping?"

"Yeah."

He paused, "Dunno…" he was quiet for a long time. He seemed nervous and apprehensive. I was about ready to stand up and tell him that we should leave to the party when he opened his eyes and looked at me, "Kyle," he began in a hushed and shaky voice, "I… I have to be honest with you… I mean, I don't want you to freak out…"

"What?"

"Don't be mad. I… I only did it 'cause I didn't want you to go to the party… Um, that chocolate bar had just a bit of LSD in it…"

"**_What?_**" I yelled.

"Calm down, Dude! It wasn't a lot! If we had gone to that party, you would have had ten times that!"

"Stan! I'm not stupid! I wouldn't have had _any_!"

"You think that! But that's not the way it would've happened! Kyle, they'd have tricked you one way or another or threatened you or-- Kyle, I'm sorry…"

I was furious. How could Stan do this? How could he trick me like this? I glared at him and he frowned back with a guilty look. I tried to find the right words to express my anger, my confusion, my betrayal, my disappointment, my hurt, and lastly my inexplicable and all too incomprehensible feeling of love.

"I'm sorry…" he apologized again. He rested his head against the bed again and closed his eyes, "Just try and relax…"

I leaned my head too against the bed and closed my eyes like Stan did. I tried to stay calm. I tried to reason and convince myself that Stan wouldn't do something to harm me. Sure, he didn't love me, but he cared. I know he cared. He was only trying to help, no matter how fucked up this attempt to help was. It wasn't his fault.

For a long time we just sat there with our eyes closed. I didn't feel any different, but then I began to feel myself sweat a little. I opened my eyes and didn't even recognize my room at first. Everything looked different. Everything seemed so _new_. Blue, black, white, yellow, green, red-- all of those colors didn't exist anymore. There were _new _colors. I couldn't explain it. They weren't shades of old colors, but brand _new _ones. It completely refuted the concept of only three primary colors, which supposedly made up _every _color. There was no way _these_ colors were derived from them.

And the ground that my hands sat on… it felt so strange. I rubbed my hand along the carpet, admiring its new texture. As I moved my hand, I could _see _the motion.

I looked at Stan. He had changed too. He looked just like he had looked before my accident. I gently touched his cheek where his scar had once been. It was gone. He was his old self again. At my touch Stan opened his eyes, looked at me, and smiled. His smile sent off this overwhelming, radiant shine with this extraordinary power that forced me to smile too. Stan closed his eyes again and returned to his relaxed position.

I could hear my heart beating. I listened carefully and I could hear Stan's heart beating. I heard my alarm clock ticking. I looked at it and watched the arms of the clock tick. I told time to go faster and it went faster. I told time to slow down and it slowed down. I played with time for a while, not fully understanding just how I was doing it, but not caring. Nothing had to make sense. Reality was gone.

I glanced back at Stan who still had his eyes shut. He looked so peaceful and he was smiling. I wondered what he was seeing. I scooted closer to him and closed my eyes, resting my head against my bed like he did. I thought that if I tried, I could connect with him, get inside his head, and see what he saw.

With my eyes closed, I revisited events that happened several years ago. I was only in middle school at the time when a small, second-rate carnival came to South Park. I didn't even want to go, but Stan asked me to accompany him. It was just me and him. Together and alone in this place. At that time, I had only just realized that I was in love with my best friend. I had only just discovered that I was obsessed with the little things he did, like that wrinkled nose he got when he was thinking really hard, or that specific sparkle in his eyes when something intrigued him. At that time, I had only just started to dream about him when I slept. I had only just found that Stan was really really hot.

He thought I was angry with him, because for a week I had avoided him after understanding my feelings. I was scared of those feelings and I was scared of him. I didn't want to be in love with him… love was the most frightful thing I had yet to come across.

He thought that he did something and wanted to make it up, so he took me to this carnival. He treated me to anything I wanted. He spoiled me for a day and I felt so special. It was the most beautiful day of my life and I wish that that carnival would come back.

After having numerous flashbacks of that glorious day, I opened my eyes and found that Stan was smiling at me, "How you doing?" he asked.

"Good," I smiled back at him.

His smile broadened and he just stared at me for a long time. He gently touched my hair and played with my curls, still smiling.

"Stan?" I said.

"Yeah?"

I started to laugh. I don't know why. I just laughed and Stan laughed too. I covered my face with my hand, trying to control my enigmatic laughter. I pulled my hand away and saw all the little wrinkles and creases and I tried to count them. After a while, I concluded that the lines were infinite. I took Stan's hand and studied it as well. He allowed me to hold his hand, turn it over and over, and press it against my own-- he was completely relaxed.

I let go of his hand and moved closer to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and he didn't make the slightest motion or protest. I started to wonder how much he would let me get away with. How close would he let me get? Normally, I would be too cowardly to simply brush against him, but at that moment, I felt strong. I took my arms and wrapped them around his waist.

He looked at me and laughed a little, "What are you doing?"

"I love you." I was amazed at how easily the words came out.

"You're crazy."

"Why do you say that?" I pulled him closer.

Stan stared for a long time. "Do you wanna kiss me?" he asked as plainly as you would ask for the time.

He remained still as I leaned in. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against his. He was still. He didn't kiss back and I pressed my lips harder, trying to persuade him to join me, but he was unmoving. I opened my eyes and pulled away. He just looked at me, not smiling, but not frowning either.

I kissed his neck. He just sat there. I brushed the back of my hand along the side of his face and then ran my fingers through his hair. I pulled his head to mine and kissed him a few times. And he just sat there, letting me do anything I wanted to him. I continued to kiss him on the lips repeatedly, mixing short kisses with long ones. His taste was unbelievable and I felt like I was in heaven. These kisses stirred up strong, passionate tensions inside me. I was on fire. I wanted to do more, but his stillness was a bit disturbing, so I only kissed him. I continued for a long time, believing that he would eventually kiss me back and then I could move on, but he never did.

I lied down with my head on his lap and stared up at him and he stared down at me. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Nothing."

While gazing at him, I could see him slowly change before my eyes. His scar slowly appeared and everything else was returning to its normal state. I sat up and looked desperately around the room, horrified as I watched the colors disappear.

I quickly pulled Stan near and kissed him hard. I didn't want it to end. Stan gently pushed me away, "Stop it, Kyle."

Heartbroken, I watched him slowly rise to his feet, brush himself off, and walk to my window. He began to slide it open, "You're leaving?" I said standing.

He nodded, "I gotta get home…"

"Why?" I rushed over to him and grabbed his arm.

He pulled from my grasp, "It's four in the morning. I have to be home before my parents wake up." He hopped out of the window and left with a simple, "Bye."

It took me a long time to coax myself away from that window. I tried to sleep but I couldn't. I was so confused. I had felt so alive and free, and now I felt dead. I didn't know whether to be mad at Stan for slipping me the stuff or to rejoice of this new, incredible experience he shared with me… It _was _incredible.

A lot of people told me that when you were high, you weren't yourself, but I think that it's the opposite now. I think I found myself during that trip. I found the side of me that loved Stan and wasn't afraid of that love. Why had I been afraid of it before? Not just my love for Stan, but every feeling was at its up most extreme while I was tripping and nothing could stop those feelings. They were strong. I was strong. I was above those human attributes such as fear that tied me down before. I was awesome. I was free.

Recalling what I had done to Stan now made me blush. I wasn't shy at all when I was high. I did whatever I felt with no regrets. Why couldn't I have that courage all the time?

As time progressed, I started to think critically of my situation. I started to feel guilt for what I had done and for my thoughts. How could I consider acid a good thing? It was wrong. It led to horrible things, with Stan as a perfect example… But Stan said that it wasn't the LSD that was responsible… it was Wendy.

But I knew that if Stan were himself, he wouldn't have killed Kenny. It _was_ the acid that did that. He needed to stop. I needed to help him.

But when he was tripping on acid, he let me touch him… He let me _kiss_ him. I would do anything to be able to do that again. If I convinced him to stop the LSD, I'd never have that again… Although when I kissed him he didn't kiss back, what would he have done with just a little more acid in him? If we got high again together, would I be able to persuade him to love me back?

There was only one way to find out.


	5. The Bad Trip

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 5: The Bad Trip

I went to Wendy's house the very next day at around noon. I knew Stan would be angry with me, and I knew that he thought that she was dangerous, but I had to get some acid from someone. I had to get Stan to trip with me again. I had to kiss him again. Just one more time. I would only do just one more time and then I swore to myself I would help Stan get off the stuff.

I stood at Wendy's door, too scared to ring the door bell for several minutes. What the hell was I afraid of? Just as my finger was just half an inch away from the door bell, Wendy opened the door, "Hey! What're you doing here?" she grinned.

"Uh… Hey, Wendy…"

"Hey! Come in!"

She let me inside and we walked to her living room, "Are your parents home?" I asked as I took a seat on the couch.

She giggled, "No! Of course not!"

I didn't really understand what she meant by that, but I smiled at her, "Right…"

"Hey, how was your therapy thingie last night?"

"Um, good…"

"Shit, Dude. You missed a hell of a party last night!"

"I did?"

She nodded, "You're coming to this Saturday's right?"

"Uh… maybe…"

"Of course you will! Hell, why wouldn't you?"

I just smiled at her. She acted a lot different than before my accident. She seemed stupid and out of it. I almost thought that she was high right then. If I hadn't known her since childhood, I would've guessed her to be a natural blonde under that jet black hair.

"What did you need, Kyle?"

"Uh," I paused, "I, uh, wanted to know if you, er, had any… um… LSD…"

"Some acid?" she laughed, "Well, sure! How do you want it? I can't give you too much, I'm already a little low for this weekend's party, but since you were in a coma and all, I guess I _do_ owe you a belated birthday present!"

I laughed a little, "Uh, thanks."

"So how do you want it?"

I wasn't familiar with the forms of LSD, but I did know how I wanted it, "Can I have it hidden in some food or something?"

"Sure!" she jumped up from the couch, "Be right back!" She returned with a small box of assorted chocolates. She started to hand me the box, but just as I went to grab it, she pulled it away, "No, no, no! First you gotta try some with me!"

"Right now?"

She nodded, "I'm not a retard. How do I know you're not going to turn this shit in to the cops or something? Go on! Have a piece!"

I stared at her for a while, "Right now?" I repeated.

She sighed and took a piece and plopped it in my hands, "Eat it."

I didn't want to trip right then, but I was desperate to get that candy. I ate the small piece of chocolate. Wendy took a piece too and the two of us sat down on the couch. I took the small box of chocolates and put it in my jacket. She was quiet for a long time and I didn't like it. "So," I said trying to stir up a conversation, "What time is that party?"

"Five," she said, "That way we'll be done by two or three in the morning. Stan's always paranoid that his parents are gonna find out," she laughed, "Cartman and I have been trying to convince him to do what we did."

"What's that?"

"Well, kill 'em, duh."

I stared at her, "You… you… killed your parents?"

"No!" she laughed even harder, "Cartman took care of 'em for me!"

"He… killed them?"

"Uh, yeah," she said as if I were stupid.

I couldn't believe it. She really was crazy. No wonder Stan was so terrified of her and her party friends. No wonder he wanted me to stay away. I thought that maybe Kenny's death was an accident because of her tripping, but now… She was out of her mind. I couldn't talk due to pure shock for a long time, "How… how the hell did you get away with it?"

She shrugged, "I dunno. Ask Cartman. He did it."

I blinked a few times at her, "Oh…" I didn't really know what to say.

"Want some music?" she said hopping off the couch and running across the room to the stereo system. She turned it on and some rap CD started playing. "Do you like this album?"

"Uh… never heard it…" I was still trying to get around the idea of Wendy killing her parents.

"_What?_" she exclaimed, "It was like the hottest thing that came out last month!"

"Uh… I was in a coma last month…"

"Oh!" she smacked herself on the forehead, "Duh!" she came back to the couch and sat next to me, "So what's it like when you're in a coma?" she asked.

"I dunno… I guess like you're asleep."

She nodded, "That's cool."

"Yeah…"

"Did you dream?"

"No…"

"Oh…" she paused, "Woah."

"What?"

She giggled, "I'm totally starting to trip right now…" she fell back on the couch.

I could feel myself sweat and I knew my turn was coming soon. I relaxed on the couch, waiting for those colors to come back. Next to me, Wendy started singing along to the album. The door bell rang and I waited for Wendy to get up and answer it, but she just kept singing.

I stood up and went to the door. I answered it and it was Stan. "What the hell are you doing here?" he said right away.

"Uh…" I started to sweat harder. I felt a little dizzy and my vision began to blur a bit. And then the colors came. Stan changed back to his old self again right before my eyes. I felt even dizzier and I almost fell forward onto Stan, but he caught me in time.

"Kyle! You didn't!" he stood me back up and searched my eyes, "Oh, shit…"

I started to laugh, "What's wrong, Dude?"

He shook his head, "Kyle… Jesus, you have no fucking idea what you've got yourself into…"

"Stan!" Wendy danced over to the door, "Hey, baby!"

"Hey…" Stan looked at her, then at me, "Wendy… I'm gonna take Kyle here home."

"What? Why?"

"He's uh… got some more therapy later, so I gotta get him home and try to er, get him back down…"

She laughed, "Good luck! We just started, Dude!"

"What therapy?" I questioned.

"Kyle, shut up!" he hushed me, "See ya later, Wendy!" he took me by the hand and lead me out of the house, down the driveway, and to his car. He shoved me into the passenger seat and drove off quickly.

"What's your problem, Dude?" I yelled at him.

He sighed and just kept driving.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" I punched him in the shoulder.

"Fuck off! I'm trying to drive!"

I started laughing even more. I leaned back in my seat and stared out my window. We seemed to be flying. I looked back at Stan who grasped the steering wheel tightly, "Dude, you need to relax."

He frowned at me, "Oh, Jesus… this is all my fault…"

"What are you talking about?" I laughed.

He turned his attention back to the road and I could see that he looked really troubled. I saw a tear fall from his eye and he sniffed loudly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Our car stopped and we were at his house. He got out and opened my door for me. I laughed even more.

"Calm down, Kyle," he said.

"It's like we're fucking dating!" I giggled, "You opened the door for me!"

"Only 'cause you're too fucked up to do it yourself."

I shook my head, smiling at him. I followed him inside and to his room. I quickly invited myself to lie down on his bed. I lied down, staring up at the ceiling, watching numerous colors dance across it. I felt hot, so I took off my jacket. I sat it down next to me and lied back down.

"What's this?"

I looked at Stan and saw that he was holding the box of candies with the acid in them. "Hey, don't go through my stuff!"

"Did you get these from Wendy?" Stan demanded.

"Dude, you're acting like my ma."

"Kyle! Why did she give these to you? Why did you _take _them?"

"They're just chocolates."

"Oh, shut up!" he flung the box of chocolates across the room.

"Hey!" I hopped of the bed, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Because you don't need them!" he yelled, "Kyle! I told you to stay away from Wendy! I told you and you--"

"Relax, Stan…" I came up to him and took his hands and swung them playfully.

He stared at me, frowning. He pulled away, "Stop it, Kyle."

I frowned. He wasn't going to get away from me that easily. I quickly grabbed him by the waist and pulled him close. He pushed me away. I did it again. He pushed me away again with a little more force. I grabbed him again and held on tight this time, forcing him to struggle to get loose, "Stop it!" he glared with a serious face.

I laughed holding him, "Relax!"

He finally got free, "Cut it out, Kyle!"

"Why won't you let me hold you like last night?" I yelled.

"What the hell are you talking about? I would never let you do anything like that!"

"You let me touch you!"

"Liar!"

"You let me brush your hair!"

"Liar!"

"You let me kiss you!"

"Liar!" he blushed a little. "We didn't do anything, okay, Kyle? You must of hallucinated or something!"

"_It was real!_" I screamed. I suddenly felt incredibly dizzy. I fell to the floor and held my head which was throbbing. I felt extreme pain in my whole body and I was sweating a lot. I looked up around the room and saw that my magical, magnificent colors had turned violent and scary. All of my surroundings were horrifying. It was dark. I couldn't see Stan anymore. I started to scream hysterically because of this overwhelming fear that suddenly took over my body. I felt someone grab me by the shoulders and begin to shake me, "**_Stop! Stan, help me!_**" I yelled.

"**_Kyle! Kyle, calm down!_**" Stan yelled back. He sounded distant, almost like he was in some other universe.

I screamed over and over again for Stan as I continued to be shaken. I felt something pull me to my feet and shoving me somewhere. I was pushed to the floor and I heard a door slam. I screamed louder and louder, "**_Stan! Stan! Help me, Stan!_**"

I closed my eyes trying to escape those bloodcurdling colors that surrounded me. With my eyes closed, it was still a nightmare. I saw car headlights and heard screeching. I felt crushing and pain. I suddenly saw that I was trapped in metal. I was trapped and I fought to get free, scratching at the metal which engulfed me, still screaming for Stan's help. After what felt like hours and hours, trapped in metal, everything went pitch black…

My head hurt so much. I was lying on the floor and I sat up. I was in a closet. I looked around and saw Stan's clothes hanging above me. It was his closet. My hands were also throbbing with pain and I looked down at them. They were bruised and battered. My fingernails were worn down to the brim and bleeding a lot. I looked up and saw numerous blood stains on the door and walls of the closet. "Stan?" I called out in a scared, quavering voice.

The door slowly opened and Stan was standing there. His cheeks were stained with tears. His scar was back. I was in the real world again. We stared at each other for a long time, and I broke down crying. I buried my face in my hands and wept, "Stan! _What have I done?_"

Stan fell to his knees and scooted over to me. He grabbed me and held me close. I buried my face in his chest, and clung to him, shaking with fear. "It's okay, Kyle…" he said softly, "It's over now…"

I cried louder and he grasped me tighter, "Stan! Stan, I'm sorry! I… I just wanted to… I just wanted to…"

"It's okay…" I felt him brush my hair, "Kyle, calm down…"

I felt so overpoweringly terrified. What the hell happened to me? It was like the end of the world had come. Stan kept me close. I was finally able to control my crying after a while.

"Stan? I… I'm sorry…"

He gave me a weak smile, "Kyle…" he shook his head, "It's not your fault."

"It is!" I argued through my tears, "I only wanted to get some acid so that we could trip together again! I only wanted to kiss you again!"

I felt Stan's hold loosen a little and he seemed to squirm about nervously a bit. He cleared his throat, "Kyle… I…" he stared at me with his mouth opened a little. He seemed to have lost his voice temporarily.

I looked away from him and I could feel myself blushing. And then I felt his hold tighten once more. I looked back at him and he had his eyes closed and he was leaning into me. He pressed his lips against mine and I closed my eyes, savoring his taste.


	6. Stan's Nightmare

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

author's note: i would like to thank EVERYONE who has reviewed. i love you all so much! seriously, i love them reviews, ok? so please keep them coming! and please be honest too! if u think i suck then tell me i suck! lol. Thanks again!

Chapter 6: Stan's Nightmare

Stan's lips were trembling. I felt him begin to draw away and I pressed my lips harder against his. I wanted so bad to keep this moment. It felt so good and all the fears that I had just before seemed to vanish with touch of his lips. He immediately pulled away fast. He was blushing as he quickly scrambled to his feet. He stared at me for a while, wearing a shocked expression as if I was the one that kissed him. I stood up and took a step towards him. "Stan…"

Stan cleared his throat, "Um, let's get you cleaned up…" He lead me out of his room and to the bathroom. He went to the sink and turned on the faucet, and I began to scrub my hands clean of the blood. My fingers stung with pain at the touch of the water. Stan took a small towel and handed it to me silently. I dried my hands and gave him back the towel. "I, uh… called your parents," he said walking over to the sink. He turned on the faucet and soaked the towel in warm water, "I told them that you were spending the night… I wasn't sure if they'd freak out about not hearing from you all day and night…" He wringed the small towel and turned off the faucet. Stan turned and walked up to me.

"Thanks…" I said quietly. I stood still as Stan placed the warm towel on my forehead. He was incredibly gentle as he wiped my face clean of blood and tears. "Stan," I began even quieter, "I'm confused…"

"You had a bad trip."

"I meant… I'm confused about… about _us_."

Stan silently took the towel and tossed it into the sink. He kept his stare on the floor, "Kyle…" he whispered as if he didn't want anyone else to hear, "I… I don't know why I--" he looked up, "I don't know what's wrong with me, but I…" his voice faded away. He chuckled nervously, "I'll let you know as soon as I figure things out for myself."

"Well… Maybe we can try and figure it out together," I smiled weakly.

Stan simply turned and walked out of the bathroom and into his room. I followed him. He closed the door behind me. He blinked at me for a while and I just stood there waiting. I didn't understand what was going on in his head. Did he or did he not love me? Maybe he was in love with me and just didn't know it… But love is unlike any other feeling you could ever have. How could he confuse it with something else?

Stan took a step towards me and then quickly retracted it. His face was blushing again. He took a deep breath and started to approach me slowly. He took my hands and I tried to look him in the eye, but he kept his gaze on our hands, "I… I can't do this, Kyle… I… I can't love you… I…" He looked up and our eyes locked for a split second, and then he abruptly looked away, "I just…" He was quiet for a while, "I…" His gaze slowly traveled back towards me and he finally looked me in the eye, "I…" his voice was nearly inaudible and it trailed off.

My heart was beating at the fastest velocity it had ever reached. I held my breath and prayed and prayed. He _had_ to love me. Stan stared for a while. His gray eye seemed to change before me. It sparkled a captivating crystal blue. For a minute I thought that I might've been tripping again, but I wasn't. In his eye, I could see _my_ Stan.

Stan slowly released my hands and my heart began to sink at his departure, but then he placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me near. His right hand traveled up my neck and tenderly rested on the back of my head. He gently pulled my face to his and we kissed. It was a very delicate kiss and it lingered for some time. It was so gentle and light, I wondered if it was even considered a _kiss_. Stan's lips began to tremble again and I miserably expected him to pull away like he did last time. So with lost hopes, I remained still and waited for his leave.

But Stan suddenly pushed his lips forcefully against mine, so powerfully, that I almost fell back. I felt his other hand touch my hair. He massaged my hair with his hands as our lips smacked against one another's. I rested my hands on his shoulders and stood on my tip toes so that we were the same height. Stan began to carefully push me backwards and I fell onto his bed, our lips never parting.

Stan climbed on top of me, continuing to run his fingers through my hair, only now it was less soothing and more zealous. I held his waist with one hand and slipped my other hand in his shirt. I began to claw at his chest, ignoring the pain it caused for my fingers. I was in sweet and utterly sensational ecstasy. I felt his tongue slowly creep into my mouth and I thought I was going to lose it. I grabbed desperately at his chest and my other hand fell from his waist to my side and it clung frantically to the bed sheets. Stan's tongue began to move more and more feverishly, playing with mine, before it escaped; he then began to kiss and nibble on my neck in the most pleasurable fashion, causing me to moan his name.

It was the perfect moment and it of course had to be ruined by Stan's mom, "Stanley, we're home!" she called out.

Stan hastily pulled away, falling off his bed, "_Shit_!" he exclaimed-- my exact thoughts.

I stumbled off the bed and tried to quickly straighten out my clothes. Stan ran up to me and hastily fixed my hair which was terribly a mess. Stan's parents then opened the door, "What are you boys up to?" Mrs. Marsh smiled.

"Nothing," Stan and I answered in unison.

"How you been, Kyle?" Mr. Marsh inquired.

"Oh, I'm good…" I strained not to make myself sound too out of breath.

"Mom, Dad, you weren't supposed to be home until eight," Stan said.

"Are you boys hungry?" Stan's mom asked, completely ignoring his comment. And without waiting for an answer she closed the door, "I'll fix something."

Stan and I stood side by side, not looking at each other for quite some time. I felt so embarrassed and awkward. I finally heard Stan clear his throat. I looked at him and he walked over to his bed. He threw a pillow across the room, revealing a remote control underneath it. He switched on the TV and simply reclined on his bed, flipping through channel after channel.

I stood and waited for him to invite me to sit down and join him, but he was focused on the TV. I climbed onto the bed and lied next to him, careful not to get too close, for I was now confused of what had just happened.

And so we watched television as if nothing had happened. We ate dinner as if nothing had happened. When it got late, I called my parents to confirm my overnight stay. Stan rolled out a sleeping bad on the floor and he slept in it, while I slept in his bed. Of course, I only did so after much debate, he insisting that it was the _guest_ who used the bed. And we fell asleep, as if nothing had happened.

* * *

I was back in the hospital in my dreams again. Stan was at my bedside, holding my hand. He looked tired and stressed. He had no scar, but his hair was beginning to grow unruly. "Kyle," he began softly, "How you doing?" he smiled weakly and laughed nervously, "It's funny, you know? Even when you're… like this… you're really my only friend… You're really the only one I got right now, Kyle…" His smile slowly faded. His eyes swelled up with tears and he quickly wiped them away, "I… I'm scared, Dude. Oh Jesus, I'm scared… Last night I went to another one of Wendy's parties and I don't remember what happened exactly, but… Token's missing… I think…. Cartman did something to him…. Kyle… Kyle, I'm so scared right now…"

* * *

When I woke up, it was still night. I sat up in Stan's bed and looked down at him on the floor. He seemed to toss about restlessly in his sleep and I at first thought it was because of the uncomfortable floor, but then I saw his face. His eyes were shut tightly and he wore a painful expression. I climbed off the bed and knelt beside him. "Stan?" I whispered. He remained asleep. I gently shook his shoulder, "Stan?" 

He woke up abruptly with a small jump. He blinked at me a few times, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" I asked worriedly.

Stan slowly nodded, "…Yeah…"

I frowned, "Are you sure?"

He stared at me for a while, "It… It was just a dream…"

"A nightmare?"

Stan nodded. He laughed uneasily, "You'd think I'd get used to it… I have it almost every night…"

"Well… what's it about?"

He was silent for several moments. I could only hear our breathing and the silent summer night. I thought that he wasn't going to share his nightmare with me, since he seemed unwilling to share so many other things. "He was sick in bed…" Stan said quietly.

"What?"

"He was sick in bed…" he repeated, "Cartman and Wendy thought that he was trying to leave. They thought he was some sort of traitor. That's what they called him-- a traitor." Stan practically whispered. His hushed tone was so biting and serious; it was almost frightening and strangely hypnotic. "They started talking about 'giving him what he deserved' and 'showing him what happens to rats.' They… they were talking about killing him and I… I was so afraid. I was scared of them, but I couldn't leave. I was afraid to leave… If I left, they would call me a traitor too," his eyes began to water, "And so I stayed… They kept trying to get _me _to do it. Wendy kept pressuring me to go to Kenny's to kill him… she said it was easy… I… I kept trying to talk my way out of it and soon she slipped me some more acid. I was already high and she gave me more and…" Stan's voice became shaky and his flooded eyes widened, "He was sick in bed… he was _sick_ and I… I _killed_ him." Stan choked on the word "killed" and broke down crying. I took him in my arms and held him close, trying my hardest not to cry as well. "He was pleading for me to stop!" he wailed, his face buried in my chest, "He kept screaming, '_Stop, Stan! **Stan! Please stop!**_' but I _didn't! _I beat him over and over again with a bat and Wendy was there cheering me on! Yelling '_Kill him! Kill the rat!_' and that's what I did! _I **killed **him! He was only sick in bed!_"

I held onto Stan, my arms wrapped tightly around him. It was all I could do. I could only hold him. I had no comforting words to offer. What the fuck could I say? That everything was okay? It wasn't. Stan and I were both in a terrible mess. He knew it and I knew it. Telling him it was okay was an absolute lie.

Stan's cries soon turned to hushed whimpers and sniffles. "I'm sorry…" he said some time later, still clutching me.

"Don't be," I said as kindly as I could. I kept my arms wrapped around him while I leaned against the bed. He lied, leaning against me, embracing my embrace.

I felt tired and my eyelids grew heavy. Stan also appeared to be surrendering to sleep. Just as I drifted to sleep, I felt a pair of lips touch my cheek and heard Stan's whisper, "Good night, Kyle."


	7. Saturday's Party

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 7: Saturday's Party

For the remainder of that week, there was no talk of LSD or Saturday's party or murder or nightmares. Stan didn't bring it up and neither did I. He had yet to say "I love you" but I knew that he did. I thought that maybe he was just shy. Or perhaps he was waiting for the opportune moment to tell me in a romantic way. But he didn't have to say it. I knew he loved me now. I knew by the way he smiled at me now. I knew by his look, laugh, speech, the way he played with my hair while we watched TV-- and most of all by the vanishing of that vacant gray appearance he had when I first awoke.

And when I kissed him, he kissed back. He let me touch him. He let me hold him. I loved to just hold him. I never wanted to let go. We snuck out one night. It was about two in the morning and we met at Stark's Pond. I sat there, with him in my arms, just gazing at the stars for hours. The stars were like diamonds when I was with him. Everything was rich and beautiful when I was with him. Holding him in my arms, I only saw Heaven.

But then he came to my house on Saturday to take me to the party. I knew that I had to go. If I didn't, I may face the same fate as Kenny. On the drive to Wendy's Stan explained to me that we were playing Button Button. Wendy had us play Button Button when "supplies were low." He told me that basically every one was going to eat a piece of candy each, and only some pieces would be traced with acid. "Button, Button. Who's got the button?"

When we got there I was greeted happily by about six or seven other people. I only knew four of them. There was Wendy, Cartman, Bebe, and Butters. Wendy wasted no time in starting the party. Everyone sat around her living room and ate a piece of candy each. I sat with Butters and two other unknown individuals on the floor. Stan sat just above me on the couch, with Wendy and Cartman beside him. I looked at him; he had yet to make eye contact with me since we walked through the door.

Everyone talked and laughed about some movie I had yet to see, due to my comatose state. The only person who was not engaged in the conversation was Butters. I tried to be friendly and spark our own chat, but he was uninterested. He seemed very preoccupied and just… out of it. I wondered if he also carried some horrible memory similar to Stan's. He looked just like he had when I last saw him. But you could see something different if you studied him closely. In his eyes, you could read a fear-- a pure, grave horror that inadvertently generated fear within yourself. It was a look of utter fear that you would probably only see once in your life.

I looked around at everyone to see if anyone had started tripping yet, and I only noticed Cartman to be sweating a lot. Whether that was a side-effect of the acid or his weight, I wasn't sure.

Stan still didn't look at me. I wondered if he and I both started to trip, would we voluntarily show our love to everyone. At the moment, I was too scared, but there was no doubt that the acid would give me to courage to do anything. After witnessing several people, including Wendy, Bebe, and Cartman begin to act out in ways that obviously showed that they were high, I started to think that I was one of the "losers" in the Button Button game. But then I felt slightly dizzy and those beautiful colors surrounded me once more.

I looked and saw that I couldn't find Stan or Wendy. I asked everyone if they had seen him and nearly all of them just laughed at me and for some reason I laughed too. I walked around Wendy's house, checking random rooms for Stan, and casually stopping to admire arbitrary things and illusions.

I spent most of my time in some closet, convinced that I could _feel_ Stan's presence. I was finally pulled out of the confined area by Cartman and a group of others. "Come on," Cartman said pulling me by the arm and leading me down the hallway.

"Where you taking me?" I asked more out of curiosity than concern.

We went into the bathroom and I saw that the bathtub was filled with water. "Alright, Kyle," Cartman began, walking me over to the bathtub, "This is what you gotta do for me, okay? What you gotta do, is get in that tub, lie down, and hold your breath underwater for ten minutes." There was a burst of cheers and clapping behind Cartman and me.

"Okay," I said plainly and climbed into tub with no objection, wearing everything I had on including my shoes. Without rhyme or reason, I sat down in the water, inhaled as much air as my lungs could hold, and lied down underwater.

Underwater, I stared up at the kids who stood above me and surrounded the bathtub. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but their voices sounded cheerful and excited. After a short time, I realized that what I was doing was completely insane. I couldn't hold my breath for ten minutes! I started to panic and tried to sit up, but just as I tried, Cartman's chubby hands pushed me back down underneath the water and held me there. My mouth opened slightly and I released a stream of bubbles. I kicked my feet and tried desperately to get Cartman to let go of me, but he was too strong.

And then I saw Stan behind Cartman, pulling at his grasp and screaming. I stupidly screamed for Stan, causing me to lose every bit of oxygen I had left in me and my lungs frantically ached for air, but only received more and more water. I felt extreme pressure and pain throughout my whole body and my head felt like it was going to explode. I fell unconscious.

I woke up with a jolt, sitting up quickly and gasping for air. I was sitting on the tiled bathroom floor, and Stan sat next to me, holding me by the shoulders. Everyone was staring at us in a shocked way and I didn't know why. My dreamlike acid surroundings were gone, and I was in reality again, and I was scared. Everyone just kept staring at Stan and me. I looked at him and his face was very red.

"_Sick!_" someone finally exclaimed, causing an eruption of discussion amongst everyone in the crowd.

"Did you see that?"

"_Eww_, I can't believe it!"

"Stan just grabbed Kyle and started making out with him!"

"I didn't!" Stan interjected, "It was CPR, dammit!"

"_Yeah, right_," someone said in a sarcastic tone.

"It _was_!" Stan argued, "He was drowning! He almost _died_, don't you see?"

"He looked fine to me," Cartman said and everyone agreed with him. I saw that the fat kid now had a black eye, that I imagined he received from Stan, for he stared at him with an angry look.

"_Fuck you!_" Stan yelled at him, standing up and getting in his face, "_You almost killed Kyle, you fat fuck!_"

"It was just a game," Cartman said in a cool, collective manner.

I stood and gently pulled at Stan for him to back off. Stan relaxed a little.

"Come on you guys," Wendy's laughter suddenly pierced the tension, "We all know that Stan's not gay! He just fucked me like five minutes ago!"

I looked at Stan and saw him blush. _How could he? _I thought that we were together. I thought it was _us._ I felt incredibly brokenhearted but tried not to show it to anyone. My despair would've gone unnoticed if it weren't for Cartman's keen eye which quickly spotted my emotion, "What's wrong, Kyle?" he smirked, "Is your boyfriend cheating on you?" he teased coldly.

I fought back tears and clenched my fists angrily, "_No!_" that's all I managed to say. The pain in my heart was too much. I quickly pushed past everyone in the bathroom, and ran out of Wendy's house, and I kept running. I heard Stan call after me, but I didn't stop. I felt so embarrassed, hurt, miserable, and angry.

When I got home, I had to sneak back to my room, so that my parents would not see me in my drenched clothes. It was only eight o'clock at night. I at first thought that I was going to break down crying, but I instead was filled with extreme anger.

I beat at my pillow for a long time, trying to release this incredible stress. I finally was forced to calm down when I heard my mother call out, "Kyle, are you home?"

"…Yeah!" I called back. I quickly went to my dresser and slipped into my pajamas.

My mom opened the door, "Goodness! And you've taken a shower!" she said. I smiled at her and she returned a smile and left.

I sat in the dark of my room, trying to sort out my thoughts. It didn't take long for me to give up. I didn't know what to feel and I was so tired from all these emotions that I didn't feel like trying to sort out anything.

I turned on my television set and tried to push everything out of my head. I tried to push Stan out of my head and what he did that night. I tried to forget that he freely went and screwed Wendy, when he was supposed to be with _me_. I tried to not let myself think that maybe he was just using me all along. I was almost able to finally focus on the TV show about an hour later when I heard something at my window. I went and opened it and Stan climbed into my room.

"Stan, what're _you _doing here?" I said trying to illustrate my anger towards him at the moment. I kept my stare on my TV set, pretending not to care that he was there. I looked at him, "Shouldn't you be at the--" I stopped, "…Stan?"

Stan stared at me with a frightening look in his eye. He looked deranged and insane. He stood by my window, a shadow in the dark. He came towards me slowly, and I scrambled off my bed and began to back away in fear. I kept my gaze on that malicious expression he wore. He grabbed my face and pressed his lips strongly against mine and I quickly pulled away. I looked and saw that his hands which still gasped my face were soaked in blood.

"_Stan! Oh my god!_" I pushed him away. I was now certain that he was tripping and completely out of it.

Stan went to pull me by the face again and I pushed him away, causing him to stumble backwards a little. He then became enraged and came at me. I dodged out of the way quickly and he fell on the floor. I quickly pinned him down on the floor and he screamed at me. I covered his mouth.

"_Stan!_" I whispered harshly, "Calm down! My parents are here! Be quiet!"

He continued to scream muffled curses through my hand. I didn't know what to do. His bloody hands beat at me, smudging whoever's blood it was all over me. I just kept his mouth covered and kept him pinned to the ground, "Stan!" I pleaded, "Snap out of it!"

Stan suddenly stopped. His hands clung at my hold and I saw his eyes roll into the back of his head. All of a sudden, he began to shake violently. I fell off of him, "_Holy shit!_" I screamed. I grabbed him and shook him, "_Stan! **Stan!**_" I yelled. What the fuck was happening to him? Was it a seizure? Was it the acid? I was scared out of my mind. His tremors continued for quite sometime and I was too frightened to do anything else but hold him and beg over and over again through many tears, "_Stan, please don't die! Stan, don't leave me!"_ His entire body was quivering vigorously and I held onto him tightly, trying to keep him still, but he continued shaking and foam soon began to seep out of his mouth. "**_Stan! Oh, God! Stan, please don't die!_**" I wrapped my arms around him and grasped him with all my might, trying to hold him still and crying for him to stop repeatedly.

I was on the verge of calling for help, when I finally felt his shaking end. By this time, I had my eyes shut tightly; I was too scared to look at him. I opened my eyes and looked at him in my arms. He appeared to be asleep and I stared at him frozen and terrified for a long time.

At long last, I was finally able to move again. I took Stan in my arms and laid him in my bed. I went to the bathroom and got a damp towel and returned to Stan and tried to wipe all the blood from his hands, as well as my own face, neck, arms, and hands. As I scrubbed at the blood, I had the most difficult time. I felt so incredibly weak due to overwhelming fear and anxiety. I was scared-- Fuck was I scared. I climbed into bed and lied next to my beloved and held him in my arms, but I didn't sleep. I was too fearful, for both myself and Stan.

What came next?


	8. Butters Stotch's Visit

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 8: Butters Stotch's Visit

Just minutes after the sun rose the next day, Stan woke up. He was confused as to why he was at my house and he had no memory of last night. He said the last thing he could remember was me leaving the party. I at first thought that he was trying to avoid telling me the truth by saying he didn't remember, but after seeing his reaction to my summary of what happened when he visited me last night, I knew he wasn't lying.

He stared at me for a long time, wearing a look of pure disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out.

"Stan, you have to remember _something_," I said.

"I… I don't know…" he sounded panicked, as if he _knew_ what he did, or at least had a very firm grip on an idea of what he had done, and was very afraid of what came next. As I sat on my bed, he walked about my room, pacing back and forth anxiously. "I… I don't remember…_anything_."

"Stan, I'm scared," I confessed, "I think we should take you to a doctor or something… Last night… that wasn't normal, Stan!"

"No!" he argued quickly, "You're overreacting, Kyle…"

I shook my head, "Stan--"

"Kyle," he interrupted, "If it happens again… okay… I'll see a doctor."

He wasn't all too convincing. "Stan, what if it happens again and…" I didn't want to say it, but he knew what I meant. I was afraid for Stan's life. What if the next seizure was a fatal one?

Stan came and sat next to me on the bed, "I'll be fine," he said in an all too confident manner. He paused for a moment, "Kyle," he began with a new tone, "I… I'm sorry about last night. I mean… what happened with Wendy…"

I frowned at him. I had completely forgotten about that betrayal which led to me leaving the party.

"I didn't want to," he continued, "But I-- Just know, that I hate myself for doing it, and I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm _really_ sorry."

I didn't say anything. I kept my hands folded on my lap and my gaze on the floor. I was too overwhelmed with the memories of last night. I felt Stan get up from the bed and I looked up and saw him moving to my window, "Are you going home?" I said walking over to him.

He nodded, "I'll be back later." He leaned in and kissed me gently on the cheek, only causing me to be further upset about his departure. He saw my despair, "My parents will freak if they don't find me in my room when they wake up." He lifted the window open and climbed out.

"Bye…" I said glumly.

"Bye…" he said, sounding equally disheartened.

I was unable to think about anything other than the situation Stan and I found ourselves in. I wondered what had happened after I left. Obviously Stan took some acid, but was it slipped to him, or did he freely take it? What did he do last night? Whose blood was all over his hands? I had so many questions that appeared to be forever unanswered.

At around noon my mom called me out of my room, saying that someone was at the door. I rushed to answer the door quickly, thinking that it was Stan. However, when I answered the door, I found a shy and nervous blonde haired Butters on our front porch.

"Hey…" I said hesitantly, "Come in."

He slowly walked into the house and I closed the door behind him, "Hey, Kyle," he greeted plainly.

We stood there for a while. I waited for him to talk, but he was silent. "Um, you want something to drink?" I offered.

He shook his head, "Kyle… er… uh… can we talk?"

I nodded and we went into my room, where we could be alone. I could already guess that Butters had something to say about last night. He took a seat on my bed and I sat down at my computer desk, facing him. "What is it, Dude?"

He kept his eyes on his own hands which he wrung nervously. "I… I was wondering if you'd like to know what happened last night… after you left."

"_Yes_," I answered quickly.

Butters looked up at me and then quickly looked away, "Stan… he tried to go after you, but Eric stopped him. He… He and Stan started fighting. They were really going at it… Eric knocked Stan to the ground and had him held down there for a long time and that's when he made Stan take the acid and a whole lot too, straight and everything… When Stan started tripping, he got real violent. But Eric was able to control him, like he's has always been able to do with everyone, despite how bad a trip might be… and he also persuaded him into…" Butters stopped and looked at me, "He…he told Stan that you… you needed to be taken care of and…"

"He… told Stan to kill me?"

Butters nodded, "And he took a big butcher's knife from the kitchen and gave it to him. All of us started towards your house… but then we ran into some guy along the way, and this guy noticed the knife in Stan's hand and… Eric told Stan to kill him and he did." The kid's eyes welled up with tears, "He stabbed the guy to death… and even when the man was dead, he still went at it… And everyone was laughing. Everyone was laughing like we were all watching a comedy… No one tried to stop him and he didn't stop for a long time…" Butters wiped a few tears away from his eyes and sniffed loudly, "He-he finally stopped when Eric told him to, but then… then he turned on _Eric_. He was able to stop Stan. He's much stronger than anyone there and he threw Stan down no problem… Stan got up and ran away and we all didn't care. I did of course. I think I was the only one not high at that time, though…"

I was quiet for a long time, as I tried to let this whole new story sink in. "Butters, why are you telling me all this?" I asked.

He stared at me for a while, "I know that you aren't coming back," he said in a half whisper, "Or I at least know that you _can't_ come back, not without the rest killing you… Is Stan leaving too?"

"I… I don't know…"

"What do you think he'll do?"

I stared at him blankly for a long time. What _would _Stan do? I wanted to say that he would stay by me, by my side. But a part of me doubted that. I honestly didn't know.

"If _you're _leaving and _Stan's _leaving," Butters continued, "Then I'm leaving." He seemed to shake while saying the phrase "I'm leaving."

I blinked once or twice, "Why only when we leave?"

"Because maybe now we have a chance. Maybe others will join us. A lot of people are scared of Cartman. He's the one that's running the whole thing. There are a few like Wendy who've tripped so many god damn times, they've just lost it… Everyone else who still has a brain left in them is just scared now…"

We were both quiet for a long time. "Butters?" I finally began, "Why is he doing this?"

"Eric?"

"Yeah."

He paused, "I don't know," he shrugged, "He's fine when he's not tripping. Sometimes I wonder if he even realizes what he's done-- if he's got any memory of _anything_ anymore."

Butters and I both grew silent when we heard something at the door. I went and opened it and saw Stan on the other side. He came into my room and I closed the door behind him. He spotted Butters and raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, Stan," Butters said casually.

"Hey…"

"Butters wants us all to leave the party group," I said right away.

Stan looked from me to Butters and back at me, "What?" he said as if he hadn't heard anything.

"Stan, you do realize that after last night, Kyle can't come back. And don't you wanna leave after what the acid made you do to that poor man, Stan?"

Stan stared at Butters for a long time. He looked at me for some answer.

"Stan, last night… the blood on your hands… you _killed_ a man last night."

Stan continued to stare at both Butters and I.

"You don't remember that?" Butters questioned.

Stan slowly shook his head, "No…"

"You don't remember how you were going to kill Kyle?"

Stan's eyes widened, "_No!_" he shouted, shaking his head vigorously, "I wouldn't do that I--" he looked at me. A tear slid down his cheek and I went and embraced him. "I wouldn't _do_ that," he repeated through his tears.

I continued to hold Stan, and I looked over his shoulder at Butters who was blushing severely at the sight of us both. To make it a little easier for poor Butters, I released Stan and simply held his hand and he continued to cry silently.

Butters cleared his throat, "Uh, I know you wouldn't do that, Stan. Not while you had a grip on reality, but last night you were high and completely out of it. I bet if Cartman told you to kill yourself, you'd do it."

I nodded, "Butters is right. It's not your fault, Stan."

"That's right," Butters smiled weakly.

Stan shook his head, "We can't just leave…"

"Eric wanted Kyle dead last night, Stan. Everyone did. He can't come back now. Are you going to just leave him alone by himself?" Butters said.

Stan looked at me, "Well… no… I…" he gulped, "You're right…"

I smiled at him, glad to know that he wasn't going to abandon me.

"But how?" Stan asked turning to Butters, "They're gonna come after all of us…"

Butters shook his head, "They can't do that." The boy wore a smirk and I could see that he had everything planned out and organized. "The only way they could do that is to kill all of us at the same time. There's no way they can do that. If they try and kill just one of us, they risk us going to the police. We know everything they've done. They can't win. The ones that really would want to do anything to us are completely brainless and the rest are on our side. They hate Eric as much as we do and hopefully they'll walk away too."

Stan frowned, "I hope you're right."

"We just have to stick together," Butters assured.

I couldn't help but smile. I thought then that I could finally see an end to this whole horrible ordeal. I wrapped my hands around Stan's waist and pulled him near, "It's gonna be fine," I said trying to get him to be optimistic.

He put on an obviously fake smile. He was still afraid and of course I was too. There was no telling what could sneak up on us, but at that moment I felt the safest I had since I first woke up. I leaned in and kissed him on the lips, but quickly pulled away, remembering that Butters was still in the room.

Butters smiled at us nervously, blushing. "I'll, uh… leave now… I'll uh, come back tomorrow, okay?" and he left.

I felt so extremely happy. Stan had just left everything for _me_. He was risking his own life for _me_. It was the most romantic thing ever. I smiled at him and he smiled weakly back at me. I wanted him to cheer up so badly.

I pulled his face near mine and we kissed. I wanted so bad to make love to him right then, it seeming to be the most appropriate time, but he kissed me a few more times and then left me.

He went over and plopped on my bed, "Wanna go see a movie or something?" he said casually.

I sat next to him, "No." I leaned closely to him, trying to show him that what I wanted was him, but he just stared at me.

"Okay… wanna just watch TV then?"

I sighed, "Yeah… sure." At least I could hold him in my arms while we watched television together.


	9. One Quiet Morning

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 9: One Quiet Morning

Author's Note: I just wanted to thank everyone again for the reviews. They really mean a lot to me! **REALLY!** I'm _so _happy that you all like this story! Also, um so you know, I have projected this story to reach at least 12 chapters total. shrugs Maybe more… Also, I'm going on a week long vacation where I will have NO internet access. How will I survive? LOL. Yeah, so there will be a little bit over a week with no updates.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" I asked Stan as the two of us lie in bed. I was a bit annoyed that he was there. It was insane that I almost felt like I was spending _too _much time with him. For the sixth time in a row, he again insisted on spending the night. It wouldn't have been bothersome to me, if he was acting like himself, but he wasn't. For a week now, he rarely spoke. He seemed far and distant from me. Why was he still worried that something was going to happen to us, when we hadn't heard anything from Cartman or anyone for a week?

Stan raised an eyebrow and looked sideways at me, "Nothing."

I stared at him. Why was he so mysterious all the time? I could tell something troublesome was brewing in that head of his, but every time I asked about it he replied: "Nothing." Nothing my ass.

I rolled my eyes and he saw it. "Just thinking, that's all."

Well, obviously. I turned on my side and lied with my head rested on hand, gazing at him, "Stan, everything's fine now, don't you see? Will you stop worrying about it?"

Stan looked at me and then returned to studying my ceiling, like he was doing before. "I didn't say anything about… that."

"But that's what you were thinking about."

He was quiet for a long time. He closed his eyes, and I began to think that he was asleep, but I then heard him mutter something to himself.

"What?"

He opened his eyes and turned his head towards me, "What?"

"You said something."

He shook his head, "Never mind." He scooted closer to me and began to play with my curls, which I had found that he did whenever we were close and our surroundings quiet. I liked it. When he touched my hair, he did it so gently and lovingly. I took it as his secretive way of telling me that he loved me.

I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his chest. I slowly drifted to sleep, as he continued to pet my hair and twirl my red curls.

* * *

In my dreams, I was once again in my coma, staring up at the world that I could not interact with. Stan was sitting at the foot of my bed. He looked similar to the way he now looked-- raggedy, worn, troubled, and depressed. The scar on his face looked fresh. He stared at me for a long while, not saying anything. He squirmed about a bit, looking very nervous. He cleared his throat and his soft, weak voice emerged, "Kyle… I'm sorry I haven't came in so long… how long has it been? I… I don't remember…" he paused for several minutes, "Kyle… When the hell are you going to wake up, Dude? Kyle, I… I need you, 'cause… I'm scared… and I… I…" Stan stared at me. He slowly began to stretch out his right hand towards me. His fingertips were just inches away from my face before he quickly retracted his reach. He gulped loudly and began even more slowly and shakily to reach for me again. His fingertips gently touched my cheek, and he flinched slightly at the contact. He stroked my cheek with his fingers ever so softly. He stopped and stared at me for a long time. He bit his bottom lip and looked to his right and then left, as if nervous that someone was watching. 

He took a deep breath and slowly began to lean towards me and gently and quickly kissed my forehead. When he abruptly pulled away, I could see his face had turned a bright red. "I… I'll try and come back soon, Kyle…" he said as he hurriedly leapt off the hospital bed and rushed out of the room.

* * *

When I woke up, it was still early in the morning and Stan lied, soundly asleep in my arms. I wanted him to wake up so I could ask him about my dream. What was that kiss for? I felt extremely happy at the thought that he might have been in love with me long before I confessed my feelings for him.

Stan woke up and I must have been smiling too much at him, for he gave me an odd kind of look, "What?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"What?" he repeated, "Did I say something in my sleep?"

I grinned at him, "No." I decided not to tell him about my dream. He might be embarrassed. I shook my head, "Forget it."

During breakfast, Butters came over looking very happy. He sat across the kitchen table from me and Stan, and I could tell he had some good news with him by the way he practically bounced up and down in his seat. Stan and I hurriedly finished our bowls of cereal, so that we could all return to my room, where we would be away from my mother and Ike who were also in the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Stan asked.

"Guess who called me?" Butters grinned.

"Who?" Stan and I asked at the same time.

"Bebe," Butters answered, "And," he added quickly, "she said that she wanted out too."

"That's great!" I said.

"She said that Cartman was pissed that we left and she was at first scared to leave, but because he didn't do anything, she decided to walk away. And not only that, but she also said that Nick and Tom would probably leave too."

"Wow, isn't that like almost half the group?" I asked.

"Almost," Butters nodded.

I looked at Stan who also smiled. Finally. He was smiling. Maybe now he would be a little more optimistic about everything.

Bebe showed up to my house not too long after. She seemed happy about the whole thing, which reassured my feeling of nearly certain security. I thought for sure that this horrible nightmare was behind us.

The four of us hung out that morning, and Bebe shared with Stan, Butters, and I what happened after we left. She informed us that Cartman at first denied that we left. "I think he was pretty fucking shocked that you three just _walked _away. It was a hard punch in the face for him. After that he just seemed to be… out of power… Sounds weird, doesn't it?" Bebe laughed, "Well, whatever… that's over now." She paused, "Hey, Kyle? Can I get something to drink? Sorry, I'm just a little thirsty."

"Sure," I started to get up.

"No, Dude, I'll get the drinks for everyone! I feel bad enough bothering you for something in the first place!" she smiled kindly. "I think I can find the kitchen all right." She left.

"I think she's nervous around us or something," Butters whispered to us when she was gone, "She seems anxious to please us."

Bebe returned with four glasses of my ma's summer lemonade. She talked endlessly on how amazing the drink was and how my ma needed to show her how to make the stuff because her lemonade tasted like "mutilated rabbit shit."

It was maybe some fifteen minutes later, after listening to Bebe's ramblings that I noticed Stan, who sat next to me, no longer had a smile on his face. He looked dazed and he stared at nothing in particular, just straight ahead.

"Stan?" I inquired.

He blinked at me a few times and then just rose from his seat and began to walk out of the room. I looked at Butters who returned a shrug. I quickly rushed after him. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet and washed his face.

"You okay, Stan?"

He shook his head as he dried his face with a towel, "Nah… I feel sick…" He looked at me and I saw that he was beginning to sweat.

I walked over to him and gently placed my hand on his forehead, feeling for a fever, but I couldn't tell. And then, I began to feel a little bad myself. My head swarmed slightly and I was beginning to sweat too.

"Kyle… Shit… I think we've been tricked…"

And that was the last thing I remembered. I must've blacked out or something because I woke up, lying on the floor of my room seeing that it was seven in the evening, not remembering what I had done all afternoon. Stan lied next to me and I quickly went and shook him awake, "_Stan! Stan!_"

He woke up, grasping his head, "What happened?"

"I don't know!"

He looked up at me and his eyes suddenly widened as a terrified look swept his face.

"What?" I questioned.

He quickly jumped to his feet and I did the same. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to a mirror that hung on my wall. I looked at my reflection in horror. My face was covered in blood. I looked and my hands were also drenched in blood. Stan's hands were too stained red.

"_Kyle, what happened?_" he screamed.

"_I don't know!_" I shouted back at him, I could feel myself ready to break down crying because of this tremendous fear and confusion.

"_Oh my god! What happened?_ **_Kyle!_**"

"**_I don't know!_**" I repeated through tears.

I saw Stan's eyes slowly drift over my shoulders and then widen even more, expressing an even more petrified look. I was scared to turn around, but I slowly and cautiously forced myself to do so.

Butters lie blood covered and dead on the floor.


	10. The Escape

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 10: The Escape

I felt like vomiting and fainting at the same time. And at the same moment, I was frozen stiff. I saw it and I knew what I saw. Butters was dead. He lied on the floor on his back, his eyes staring unblinkingly up at Stan and me. His neck was stained with so much blood and it was evident that his throat had been slit. Also, a large butcher knife stuck out from his chest, where his heart was no longer beating.

I couldn't tear my eyes from Butters' frightened stare. His eyes were the single most frightening thing I had ever witnessed. They held my stare and refused to let go. I was so absorbed with his eyes, I failed to notice Stan's behavior.

He was hysterical. He was crying uncontrollably, fallen on his knees, also unable to tear his stare away from Butters. I slowly knelt down beside him and reached out to comfort him as best I could, but he tore away from me. He ran over to Butters and began to shake him by the shoulders, screaming something incomprehensible, as if trying to coax our friend away from death's grasp.

I quickly rushed over to Stan and pulled him from the corpse. "_He's not dead!" _Stan cried, "_He can't be! **He's not dead! He's not dead!**_" Stan's cries were the most painful thing one could ever listen to. They sent a chill down your spine and tore at your heart.

Stan pulled at his hair, shaking his head violently, screaming one agonizing cry after another. I had my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, with my head pressed on his shoulder, crying silently. I had no clue on what I could possibly do. I cringed at every wail Stan let out, and to my torment, they only grew louder and louder as he tore at his hair so fiercely, I thought he would pull the hair right from his roots, "**_HE'S NOT DEAD!_**"

"_Stan!_" I begged, "_Please, stop! Please, Stan!_"

But he continued his hysterical cries.

"_Stan! Stan, he's gone!_"

He suddenly stopped and stared at me as if what I had just said was an absolute lie, and that I was playing some sort of cruel joke. His eyes were already red, swollen, and bloodshot from so much crying in such a small amount of time. "_He's not dead…_" he repeated with a shaky voice, choked on so many tears.

I pulled him closer and just held him as he cried, not wanting to argue the matter any longer. After all, how could I argue a point that I could hardly believe myself?

I simply helped Stan to his feet and led him out of my room and to the bathroom. I kept a look out for my parents, but I figured they were not home. They would have heard all the commotion by now.

It took a long time for each of us to scrub Butters' blood off our hands, mostly due to our shaking and shocked selves. Stan assisted me in cleaning the blood from my face; by then, he had ceased crying and only made loud sniffs every few minutes.

"I can't believe this…" Stan's small voice quaked as he wiped at my forehead.

I was quiet as I wringed my towel in the sink, watching bloody water drip into the red-water-filled bowl.

"He's such a fucking coward… how could he… why can't he just… they all… they all… deserve to die…"

I closed my eyes as I felt Stan gently scrub at my eyebrows. Reality had finally hit him and he was barely overcoming shock, and he was pissed. I heard him sigh and I opened my eyes.

He slowly lifted my face by the chin, "I think that's all of it."

I looked in the mirror and searched carefully for any spot of blood. Meanwhile, Stan was draining the sink. I heard Stan sniff loudly again and I looked to him. He frowned at me, "Kyle… what the fuck are we gonna do now?"

I looked down at my feet and shifted my weight from what foot to another, trying to force myself to think. "…I… I… dunno…." I looked up at Stan who was staring at his reflection in the mirror, wearing an angry sort of look. He slowly pulled his bangs aside and touched his scar, gently. The scratch stretched from his cheek to his nose and continued across his opposite eye and stopped at the brow. "Do you know who did this?"

I shook my head, "No…"

"Wendy. Do you know why?"

I shook my head again.

"Cartman told her to." He gave a short laugh, "She was cheating on me with him. If it was even considered cheating… she'd kiss him and feel him up right in front of me…"

I frowned. I didn't know how exactly to respond. I felt uneasy talking about Wendy. Did she still matter to him?

Stan turned from his reflection and faced me. We stared at each other for a long time. Stan didn't blink once, "Kyle?"

"…Yeah?"

"We… we have to run away."

I was silent as he moved closer.

"Let's run away," he said softly.

"Stan… we can't just--"

"What else is there, Kyle?" he asked turning my head gently, forcing our eyes to lock, "What other choices do we have? Kyle, please, I…" he stopped for a moment and his eyes began to sparkle, "Kyle, I… I love you."

Never before had my heart risen so high from such a lowly state. Stan pulled my face to his and pressed his lips firmly against mine, and just as he had magically done before, he made all my fear disappear.

"Run away with me, Kyle…" he breathed softly.

"…Alright."

A smile swept Stan's face, as well as mine. I wasn't quite sure why I smiled or Stan for that matter. I suppose the logic behind my smile was the fact that the person I loved finally said "I love you." Not only that, but he asked me to run away with him. The idea of leaving everything to escape with him, and only him, was very romantic and somewhat… a happy thought… in a twisted sort of way. Although twisted, it was bliss, especially when compared to everything else the two of us had been experiencing during this whole ordeal.

My smile faded though when we reentered my room and looked down at Butters on the floor. Why didn't the three of us do this in the first place? Why didn't we all run away together? Why now? Why when it was too late for him? Why Butters?

"Stan," I began, "We can't just leave him here…"

Stan looked at me, "What do we do?"

I paused, "I… I'm not sure…"

For a while, the two of us just stood silent, staring down at Butters. Stan finally went and knelt down beside him and slowly began to slip his arms underneath his body. Stan lifted Butters from the ground, and I, unsure of his intentions, followed him back to his car.

Stan and I buried Butters deep, deep in the woods. I doubted that we would be able to find that exact spot ever again. We were silent during the whole burial.

When Stan took me back home, I saw that my parents were back again. In the car, Stan grabbed my face and pulled it to his and we exchanged several kisses. He gently let go of my face with a final long, tender kiss, "I'm gonna go home and get some things and I'll come back and pick you up, so get what you need together."

I nodded and climbed out of the car. I went and leaned on his car door; he rolled down the window and I gave him one last kiss and ran quickly inside of my house.

"See you in about fifteen!" I heard Stan shout as I went indoors.

I ran to my closet and pulled out several pairs of jeans, a few t-shirts, my jacket and threw them into my backpack. I continued to throw several other items, not completely sure if I needed them or not. I stopped as I heard my parents laughing while watching some late night comedy on television.

I sat propped up against my door, eavesdropping on their voices. Embracing the moment while I still could. "Farewell, Mom and Dad," I whispered to myself, "God knows when we shall meet again."

I began to panic slightly when I noticed that nearly half an hour had passed, and Stan had yet to return. Something was wrong. Something _had_ to be wrong. Not wanting to let my parents know that I was leaving, I slipped out my window with my backpack of stuff and started running for Stan's house.

When I finally arrived at Stan's house I went to the front door and began to beat on it hard, "_Stan! Stan, are you here?_"

There was no answer.

I twisted the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. I began to slowly push the door open, but it stopped with a thud, hitting something on the floor on the other side. I began to push it open with more force, pushing the unknown object along with it. The door was but a few inches open, when I jumped back after discovering a pool of blood on the floor.

"**_Oh, God! No!_**" I yelled and shoved the door open, "**_STAN!_**"

But it wasn't Stan dead on the floor. The body which had blocked the door was his father's. His dad's throat was slit. And just a few feet away laid his dead mother who had suffered the same end. And just a few more feet away laid a blood covered knife, next to Stan, who lied shaking on the floor. I rushed over to him and found his eyes rolled into the back of his head and foam seeping from his mouth. He was having another seizure. And as I cried for Stan to stop, while holding him in my arms, I heard the sound of police sirens approaching.


	11. The Aftermath of Stan’s Episode

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

Chapter 11: The Aftermath of Stan's Episode

I quickly let go of Stan and ran to the front door, opening it to find several police cars outside. I looked back at Stan who was still trembling from his seizure. I caught sight of an ambulance and quickly darted towards it.

"**_Please help him! Please help Stan!_**" I yelled at the white van desperately. I was shoved out of the way by so many people who ran past me into the house. A woman police officer grabbed me by the shoulders and on instinct I fought back, but stopped when I realized that she was trying to help.

"Son, tell me what has happened here," she said looking me in the eyes.

I stared at her for a while, trying to find my voice, "_I-I just came and… Stan… We were supposed to-- and the door wouldn't open and I thought he-- I-I found him just shaking-- he's having a seizure-- **You have to help him!**_"

She shook me a bit, trying to pull me away from my hysterical state, "Calm down, Son. What's your name? _What's your name_ _I said._"

"_K-Kyle Broflovski._"

"And the boy suffering from the seizure, do you know him well?"

I slowly nodded.

"Do you know what's causing his seizure? _I said do you know the cause?_"

I had my mouth open to speak for quite sometime, but nothing came out, "_It… It's not his fault. It was-- see he hasn't done it for a while now-- this happened just once before, but I'm not sure why… I think it's because -- it was the acid, but he hasn't_--"

" LSD. Kyle, do you--"

"**_What're you gonna do to him?_**" I screamed.

"_Shhh, Kyle--_"

"**_He's not a murderer! He didn't mean to do it! It wasn't his fault!_**"

"_Calm down, Kyle. _Right now, we're gonna get him some help, alright?"

I looked over the policewoman's shoulder and saw the ambulance starting up it's sirens. I started to run towards the vehicle, but the officer grabbed me by the arm before I got very far, "**_Please!_**" I begged through much tears, "**_Let me go with him!_**"

"Kyle, your friend will be fine. We really need you to answer some more questions. To help your friend, we need your help."

I didn't want to answer any god damn questions. I wanted to be with Stan. I wanted to make sure that he was okay. Why the fuck did I leave his side in the first place? How the fuck was I helping Stan by answering their questions? To help Stan, I needed to be there for him, not answering any questions.

And because my mind was with Stan in the ambulance and not where I stood with several police officers, I answered their questions absent-mindly mostly with simple _I'm-not-sure's _and _I-don't-know's_.

"Before his episode, when did you last see him?"

"I'm not sure… Maybe half an hour before…"

"And do you now if he had a seizure before."

"Only one… I think…"

"And were you a witness to that?"

I nodded.

"How did it start?"

"I don't know… it just started…"

"How long ago was this?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Estimate."

"I don't know… a week or maybe two weeks ago…"

"How's the boy's relationship with his parents?"

"Okay, I suppose. He didn't hate them or anything…"

"Do you know if he did anything like this in his previous episode?"

"I-I don't know… No, I don't think so…"

"How long has he been doing the LSD?"

"I don't know… I hadn't talked to him for a while…"

"Estimate."

"One year, I think…"

"How long has he been clean?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Estimate."

"A week or two… but he got slipped some just… yesterday…"

"By who?"

I stopped and looked at each police officer individually, "I… I…"

"_By who_?" they repeated.

"I…"

"_Kyle, who slipped your friend the acid?_"

"It was… I'm not sure… but I think it was… Cartman. Eric Cartman." I didn't mention Bebe, because it was technically _Cartman _who plotted the thing.

"Have you ever taken LSD yourself?"

I blinked once or twice, "…yes…"

"Why?"

"I uh… I never meant to… I…"

"Where you tricked?"

"…yes…"

"By this Eric Cartman?"

I nodded.

"What was the result?"

"Nothing… I think… I…"

They all seemed satisfied. They assumed that I had taken LSD just once and I had just gotten high and done no harm to anyone. I wondered if Butters had been reported missing yet.

After my parade of questions, they left me to sit in the back of one of their patrol cars for what felt like hours. I listened carefully to their muffled discussion.

"Apparently, he hasn't any of the stuff in his system."

"And this wasn't his first episode."

"The boy will probably soon succumb to a psychogenic fugue because of this."

"It's to the hospital and then probably to rehab."

"Nah, they won't take him to rehab if he's not addicted to the stuff."

"Then where?"

"Well, somewhere where he can get some psychological help."

"He'll probably end up permanently placed in an institute with both his parents now gone…"

"Poor kid…"

A policeman opened the door, "I'm gonna take you home now, alright?"

"Can't I go see Stan?"

The man gave me a weak sort of smile, "Afraid not. I wouldn't know where that'd be right now."

"You have to be able to find that out _somehow_," I begged.

He shook his head, "Right now I have to take you home. That's what I've been told to do." He closed the door.

When I got home, my parents had already received the news of what happened. I was taken to my room, sat on my bed, and underwent another long series of questions. Both my parents took turns, pacing back and forth in front of me.

"LSD? Why didn't you tell us, Kyle?"

"I don't know…"

"You don't know? What happened to Stanley could have happened to you!"

"I…"

"Kyle, I thought you knew you could trust us!"

"I…"

"Do you swear you were only tricked into taking that nasty stuff?"

"I…"

"Do you swear to God?"

"I… I swear…"

"I'm going to search your room right now, young man! And if I find any drugs of any kind in this room--"

"I don't have any drugs…" I felt myself beginning to get teary again, trying to imagine what Stan was experiencing at that very moment.

My mother noticed my despair and sat next to me on my bed, "Kyle…?"

I broke down and buried my face in my hands, "_Ma! Please take me to see Stan! **Please, Ma!**_"

"Kyle," I heard my father begin, "It's late."

"Your father's right. Go to bed, and I promise, Honey, we'll go in the morning."

"**_No! I can't wait! PLEASE! I NEED TO SEE STAN! I WON'T BE ABLE TO SLEEP! I HAVE TO KNOW IF HE'S OKAY! IF HE'S EVEN ALIVE! PLEASE, MA! PLEASE, DAD! PLEASE TAKE ME TO SEE STAN!"_**

My parents were silent as they watched my cry uncontrollably.

"He's at Hell's Pass Hospital right now. Room 3021." I looked up and saw my little brother Ike at my doorway. He held a telephone in his hand, "That's on the third floor. I remember 'cause that's the floor you were on." Ike smiled weakly at me.

I wiped away the tears from my eyes and looked pleadingly from my mother to my father.

"Okay," my father started, "Get your jacket."

Before our car could even stop, I jumped out of the vehicle and ran quickly into the hospital building. My little brother chased after me, shouting directions for me to get to Stan. Several nurses and others yelled at the two of us for running, but I ignored them.

I held my breath as I opened the door to room 3021.

* * *

just a reminder... the next chapter is the final chapter. please review! you too, lurkers! 


	12. The Dilemma of Two Lovers

**While You Were Out**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California.

* * *

_

Author's Note: So here it is. The ending. I would just like to thank all those who have read and reviewed. A few specific persons I would like to mention…

**AshleyRed** who has been there since the very beginning and whose reviews were always a treat.

**Sparkus, **who has also been there from the start and who drew me a FANTASTIC piece of fanart which is posted on the wall of my room and I wake up and see it every morning. I LOVE YOU SPARKUS!

**Leela's Tears,** whose reviews always made me feel special and made me laugh too! You are one of my bestest friends!

**Fletset**, the greatest StanxKyle author out there! I felt so honored when I got a review from you!

**Vcorrigan**, my god. I nearly died from shock when I saw that fanart she did for me! Vcorrigan, you kick so much ass! You made me dance around and squeal all happy like for hours! And your picture is taped up on my wall too and I still squeal whenever I see it! I love it so much and I love you!

**Sofa King Danny**, who is a cool friend who I love talking to cuz she's funny and kick ass. Danny, dunno if you know this, but you were one of the motivations that got me past the first chapter for this.

**Sammeh17**, whose art I worship like insane and I almost fainted when I found out she was reading my story.

**Me-ladie**, my lurker who finally crept out of da shadows. Another friend whose reviews make me feel oh so special and loved. Love ya, me-ladie!

**Lillian**, my bestest-est-est-est-EST friend EVER. With us on summer break the poor girl had nothing better to do than to sit down and read my story… lol. I love you, Lillian! Thanks for reading my story, Mums!

GOD! I can't remember everyone! I don't wanna leave anyone out, so here's a ramble of names I remember that have made me feel like a real writer during this whole story… Tsuname, Holy Snappers, Keito-kokun, Enigmus, Lilchicky004, total misanthrope, DeuxMoulins, and anyone else who should be here but I forgot and I'm sorry!

Now… phew… onto the final chapter. I hope you guys have enjoyed the story!

* * *

Chapter 12: The Dilemma of Two Lovers 

Stan wasn't there. The hospital bed that I thought he was supposed to be in was empty. I felt a hand on my shoulder, "You just missed him," said a familiar voice.

I whirled around and faced Stan's older sister Shelly, who I hadn't seen since she left for college about four years ago. I stared at her, waiting for some other explanation.

"They're doing some tests or something. A CAT scan, I think. And some other things like an… what's it called? MRI?"

"Those are on the first floor," my little brother added.

Shelly shook her head, "If they won't let his sister into the room with him, they won't let _you _in." She sighed, "They'll bring him back up here when they're done." I watched Shelly collapse in a near by chair, letting out another sigh.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

She looked up at me, "I don't know. That's what the scans are for."

"But is he awake? Does he remember what happened? Has he asked for me?"

"He's awake." I waited, but that was the only answer I got. I could tell that Shelly was upset and I didn't want to bother her anymore, so I simply took a seat as she did, and waited.

My parents came some time later. They tried to get me to go home and come back tomorrow, since visiting hours were over within an hour, but I refused.

"I'll take him home," Shelly offered.

My parents hesitated. "Fine," my mom said, "Come on, Ike," she said to my brother, and the three of them left.

I watched the clock intensely. At long last, a doctor came in and Shelly and I stood up. "Are you his sister?" the doctor questioned.

Shelly nodded.

The doctor held a clipboard in his hands, and he spoke quickly as he flipped through the papers, "We preformed several tests, including a CAT, a PET, and an MRI. Your brother seems to be suffering from psychogenic fugue because of his drug abuse. The seizures are a result of this, plus paranoia and hysteria. I've prescribed some Dilantin and Gabitril to prevent future episodes. As for his apparent psychological problems, which include his hysteria, paranoia, depression, and…" he waved at his notes as if there was an infinite amount of problems with Stan, "For those, I have to recommend him to a specialist. So…" he pulled out a packet of paper and placed it on the very top of his clipboard and handed it to Shelly along with a pen, "Just sign there," he tapped the paper, "And your brother will be admitted to St. Bernadette's Hospital, a psychiatric facility in Denver that should be able to help him."

Shelly took the pen and signed where she was told.

"Wait," I interrupted, "Where's Stan?"

Shelly handed the signed papers back to the doctor, "Where's my brother?"

"We'll take him to St. Bernadette's for you."

"That's not what she meant," I said, "She meant where is he so we can see him?"

"You can visit him tomorrow at St. Bernadette's. I believe visiting hours begin at nine in the morning there."

Knowing that I was not going to get any answers from the doctor, I left the room for the first floor to search for Stan on my own. I walked quickly, with my tired eyes peeled for Stan.

I kept running into large automatic doors which required passwords for entrance and nurses and doctors who constantly informed me that visiting hours were over. But I wasn't going to leave until I found my Stan. I wasn't leaving that hospital until I knew that he was alright. I also had to make certain that he knew that I knew what was happening, and that I was going to do everything I could to get him out of that institute his sister just signed him away to. After all, my dad _was _a lawyer. There had to be a way to get Stan free. There was no way that there was anything wrong with him. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't a murderer. This was a big mistake.

I was finally walked back to the entrance by a doctor who had caught me several times when I had already said that I was on my way out. As we neared the doors of the hospital, I saw a nurse wheeling somebody in a wheel chair out of the hospital. It was Stan.

"_Stan!_" I shouted as I darted for him.

Stan turned his head around and a large grin swept his face. The nurse wheeling him was forced to stop when I ran in front of their path. Stan leapt out of his wheel chair and embraced me with a hug.

"Sit back down!" the nurse shouted, "Sit back _down_!"

The nursed seemed to shut up when Stan pulled my face to his and kissed me tenderly. Our foreheads rested on one another's for a while, as I gazed into his eyes, knowing that those eyes were not those of an insane person.

"Why are you crying?" he smiled weakly.

I didn't even realize that I was, "I… I.. dunno… I'm scared…" I suddenly felt selfish, realizing that my fear was probably a mere fraction of what was stirring inside him. _He_ was the one that was being locked away in a mental institute, not me.

Stan kissed me again, but my fears were not shaken from his kiss like they had been before.

"I'm gonna get you out of there, Stan. I swear."

He gave a small, short laugh, "I love you, Kyle."

"I love you too, and I swear I'll get you out."

Stan petted my hair, our foreheads still leaning against each other's, "I'll be fine. A little far away, but fine. I just won't be down the street anymore, but I'll be there. I'll always be there for you."

"I'll visit you everyday until I get you out."

Our lips touched again, but it was a slight brush.

"Sit down, young man," the nurse said again.

Stan looked back at her. I wanted so bad just to grab Stan by the hand and start running with him, but I found my feet frozen in place. Stan gave me one last weak smile and sat back down in his wheel chair.

I depressingly watched Stan slowly disappear into the hospital parking garage.

"There you are," Shelly said from behind, "Are you ready?"

"…Yeah…"

* * *

I didn't sleep that night. How could I? I showered and dressed and was ready to leave for Stan at five in the morning. I was walking down my driveway to the car to go to see Stan, when I noticed Cartman just pulling up in his car. The sight of him made me half angered and half frightened. But he simply rolled down his window and shouted, "_Where's your boyfriend, Jew?_" 

I gritted my teeth and restrained myself from yelling a parade of curses.

"Oh, by the way, I don't appreciate you telling the cops that _I_ was responsible for your faggot problems! Don't think you'll get away with it either!" And with that threat, he drove away. He didn't scare me. I was already scared enough.

I arrived at St. Bernadette's two hours before visiting time, but I was hoping that they would be kind enough to let me see him a little early. Also, in the hospital, I was Stan's brother if anyone asked. Only family could visit.

I sat in the lobby, waiting for nine o' clock to arrive. I could see down one of the white halls of the place and watched a line of people pass through it. They looked normal to me. They all wore baby blue jump suits and were relatively old. I looked at the hall's entrance and read "Geriatric Ward."

I heard footsteps from another hallway and leaned in my seat to see. I saw another line of patients, who again looked like ordinary individuals, save their blue uniforms. "Juvenile Ward" was printed above the hall's entrance and I noticed that the patients varied from young children around seven or so to about my age. I watched them slowly disappear into a room and then reappear out of a closer door holding plastic cups of medication.

Stan emerged from the room and I couldn't keep myself from shouting his name. He stopped in his march, holding up the line and looked for me above the heads of the crowd. I started towards him, but was stopped by the receptionist, "No visitors allowed," she said, "I'm sorry."

"Just let me say 'hi' _please_."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until nine."  
I looked for Stan and saw that he had disappeared.

Nine o' clock finally came and I sat impatiently in the Visiting Ward, waiting for Stan. I finally saw him, being helped into the room by a nurse. The nurse helped him into the chair across from me. He looked extremely tired. "Are you okay?" I asked with concern.

He nodded slowly, "I'm tired that's all."

"I can tell," I frowned, "Why?"

He grasped his forehead, "Dunno. Guess it's the medication…"

"What are you taking?"

He paused for a while, "Um… Prozac, Nardil, Nembutal, Stelazine, Te-gre-tol… or something like that… um, Periactin, Serepax, Adderall, and Butisol -- that one's like this big," he indicated the large size with his fingers.

"Oh my god…"

"It's not as bad as it sounds. They're all capsules, not chalky pills, so you can't taste anything… 'cept of course plastic, but it's not that bad."

"Stan, you don't need all that stuff."

Stan didn't say anything. He reclined in his chair and stared at me quietly. I almost thought he was going to fall asleep in front of me. It was horrible.

"Stan, I'm gonna talk to my dad and see if we can get you released. I'm sure there's something we can do. Stan, are you listening?"

Stan slowly nodded, "…Yeah…"

I stared at him for a long time.

"I'm fine," he insisted, "Just tired. I just have to get used to the stuff I guess."

But he looked so distracted and far away. I scooted my chair closer to him so that our knees touched. I leaned towards him, "I love you," I whispered, not knowing exactly why I chose to say those words just then.

"Don't say it like I'm dying, Kyle," Stan frowned.

"I didn't mean to," I replied quickly, "I just… you don't look good, Stan. These drugs aren't helping. They're only making it worse, can't you see?"

"First you want me to quit the acid 'cause it's hurting me and now you want me to quit my doctor's prescription?" he half laughed, "I'm fine, Kyle."

"You _do _realize that you look like shit. You're paler than ever. You're about to fall asleep in front of me. You don't even look like your _looking_ at me. What else? You're in a mental institute and you're not meant to be in one! You--"

"Calm down, Kyle…"

I stopped myself. "Sorry…"

Stan massaged his forehead with his fingers, "I'm fine," he repeated before I could say anything.

"Looks like Stanley could use a nap," a nurse said approaching Stan.

"No, I'm good," Stan said quickly.

But the nurse ignored him and took his arm, lifting him from his chair. Stan looked at me and frowned, "Bye, I guess."

"I… I'll be here when you wake up!" I called after him as the nurse dragged him away.

I returned to the lobby area and sat and waited for Stan to wake up. Maybe an hour later, I drifted to sleep myself. I was shaken awake by the receptionist, "I'm leaving for lunch now," she said.

I blinked at her a few times, "Does that mean I have to go too?"

She stared at me for a while, "Well, yes," she paused, "I'm not supposed to do this, but I don't see what harm a kid like you can do… You can stay here…. I'll be back in an hour." She glanced at the coffee table behind her, "You're welcome to read anything there."

As soon as the receptionist was out of sight, I made my way down the Juvenile Ward Hall, looking through every window of every room for Stan. I finally found him and burst into the room so loudly, I expected Stan to wake up with a jolt, but he remained asleep.

I went and sat beside him on his bed. I looked around the room that was now his home. It looked like a clean, glossy prison cell. I stared down at my beloved, debating on whether or not I should wake him from his sleep. He _did_ need the rest by the way he looked earlier, but I couldn't contain myself. I didn't know why, but I had this unsettling feeling like our time together was precious and all too short.

I gently shook Stan by the shoulder, "Stan?"

His eyebrows raised in his sleep and he wrestled about a bit.

"_Stan?_" I repeated, "It's me."

He squirmed a bit more and then his eyes fluttered open. He squinted at me for a while and then sleepily rubbed at his eyes with his hands.

"Sorry," I apologized, "If you want me to leave so you can sleep some more, I'll go… I just… wanted to see you…"

He blinked at me a few times, as if confused.

"Stan? Are you okay?"

A couple more blinks. "Yeah… Hey…"

I studied him a bit. He still looked tired and even more ill. His stare seemed unfocused, like he was mentally somewhere else. "Stan, we need to get you out of here…"

He blinked a lot more, "Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I feel… weird…" he paused, allowing himself to blink once or twice more, "I… I… I…I forgot what I was gonna say…"

My heart felt like it was being torn from my chest. I couldn't help but break down crying. Stan was out of it. He was more distant than he was when he had his problem with the acid. He wasn't even _there_. He was gone. "_Stan_…" I cried and threw my arms around him.

He was still for a while, as if he didn't even realize that I was hugging him, or even that I was _there_. I finally felt him slowly embrace me. "It's okay, Kyle…"

"_No, it isn't!_" I pulled away and saw that Stan was crying too. It made me feel worse, and I quickly began to wipe away my tears, "_But it will be soon! I swear! I'll get you out of here, Stan!_"

Stan stared at me for a while and then slowly nodded.

Unable to stand the sight of Stan blinking dumbly at me, I left, telling him I'd return later that afternoon. I left the hospital and started to drive towards a McDonald's or somewhere where I could eat my first meal of the day. But after driving around the unfamiliar territory for an hour, I realized that I wasn't really hungry.

I felt as empty as Stan appeared, and I broke down crying as I drove to where, I don't know. I cursed at my radio for daring to play a love song at that point in time. I was hysterical and I didn't notice my car drifting into oncoming traffic.

* * *

IKE'S POV 

I delivered the news to Stan personally. I wasn't sure if he could even understand what I was saying. I doubted that he understood _anything_ by the look of his blank expression.

"Kyle's dead, Stan," I said.

He just stared, not at me… not at _anything_.

"He _died_, Stan. He's _gone_."

He was silent as he blinked endlessly.

"_Stan?_"

Nothing.

"Well… I… I just wanted you to know since…"

But I would soon discover that Stan in fact understood that Kyle was dead. I watched Stan slowly rise from his seat and slowly walk away.

"_Stan?_" I stood up and slowly and cautiously followed him.

He kept walking down the white halls of St. Bernadette's Hospital until he reached a door which read "Emergency Exit" and he slowly pushed it open, sounding an alarm. He kept walking out onto the roof of the hospital. He kept walking, and he never stopped.

Stan Marsh fell to his death that morning. He and Kyle were buried on that Sunday.

The end.


End file.
